


Heightened Sensitivity

by OmegaBucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Sam Wilson, Breathplay, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Bucky is fifteen, Choking, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Light Feminization, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Bucky Barnes, Orgy, Power Kink, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Puppies, Sam is Bucky's adoptive father, Sex Toys, Steve and Sam are both thirty-five, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Virgin bucky barnes, an alpha's scent has drug-like effects on omegas, and Bucky voluntarily does drugs, and because Bucky is underage, and they fuck, basically Bucky gets fucked by a LOT of people, but no one is ever unwilling or forced to have sex, but the endgame is Steve/Bucky/Sam, consensual drug use, dub-con due to how a/b/o works, not until much later though, only a little bit though, the Sam/Bucky relationship is a slow burn, with other Avengers characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7375534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaBucky/pseuds/OmegaBucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sam Wilson adopted Bucky as an infant, he's kept him very sheltered from the world of alphas, never letting him within a few feet of any they might encounter in public, and certainly never letting any into their house.</p><p>That is, until Bucky turns fifteen, and Sam introduces him to his friend Steve Rogers.  Who is an alpha.  A very strong, kind, enticing-smelling alpha who takes immediate interest in Bucky.</p><p>Bucky never even stands a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> In case you couldn't already tell, this fic is fucked up. But I promise, Bucky is an entirely willing party throughout this whole story, and does not regret it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to go off on me in the comments about my immorality, I probably deserve it tbh

There's an alpha in their house.

There's _never_ an alpha in their house.

But here he is, sitting at their dinner table, like it's the most normal thing in the world. And smelling of...something, deep and musky, like cedar and pine and bonfires. Bucky tries to mask how deeply he's breathing to take in the scent as much as he can. His initial fear was that an alpha's scent would make the house reek for days, but now he hopes it will linger.

His dad warned him beforehand, of course, that he was having one of his alpha friends over for dinner. He's told Bucky so many times that they're unpredictable, but now he assures him that he trusts Mr. Rogers, that he's nothing but kind. And so far, aside from the smell, he doesn't act any different from Sam's beta or omega friends. He laughs a little louder, but that ain't a bad thing.

There's also the fact that Bucky can't stop staring at him. Steve Rogers is built like an ox, probably as strong as one too, and the swell of his pecs and biceps are not at all hidden by the v-neck he wears. Whenever Mr. Rogers catches him looking and meets his eye, it makes his stomach swoop, and his gaze falls to his plate. Mr. Rogers just gives him a small, knowing smile, like he has any idea the weird shit he's making Bucky feel.

"Kiddo, tell Mr. Rogers about the book you're writing," his dad says, after he and Steve have finished having the obligatory conversation about their work at the VA. Sam is a beta, and doesn't have a scent – not that Bucky has ever been able to pick up, anyway. Mr. Rogers sets down his fork and gives Bucky his full attention almost immediately, like he's suddenly become the most important thing in the room.

"Uh...i-it's not a book," Bucky manages after a moment of trying to get his thoughts in order. The way the alpha doesn't look away from him makes is heart pound loud in his ears, but Bucky doesn't make eye contact with him. He addresses his dad, because talking directly to the alpha is more than he can handle. "It's a dissertation. On World War II," he mumbles.

"Bit young to be writing a dissertation, aren't you?" Mr. Rogers asks, but he sounds impressed rather than patronizing. He still hasn't picked up his fork, his elbows propped on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands. Bucky shifts in his chair. "Is it for a school assignment?"

"No, sir, I'm homeschooled." He uses the honorific without thinking about it, and the corner of the alpha's mouth turns up in a small smile. "I just wanted to write it. And Dad says it's a good idea to get ahead."

"A very good idea," Mr. Rogers agrees. "You seem like a really bright kid, Bucky."

"Thank you, sir," he says politely, proud of himself for not stumbling over his words despite the way the alpha is smiling at him.

"Bucky, honey, you've got red sauce on your shirt," Sam says quietly, nodding down at Bucky's chest and shattering his pride. His face heats up instantly, embarrassment flooding through him, amplifying to horror when his dad reaches over with his napkin and tries to wipe away the red stain on his grey t-shirt.

"Dad, stop, I got it," he hisses, mortified and squirming away from the beta's touch. Mr. Rogers has gone back to eating his own lasagna, politely pretending he isn't aware of what's going on, and Bucky takes the opportunity to get up from the table. "I'll go wash it off in the bathroom, it's fine."

It takes all of his effort not to look like he's storming out when he leaves the dining room. He doesn't want to make even more of an ass of himself, not after he's already made it look like he can't eat like a normal person. This never happens to him, why fucking _now_ , of all times?

The privacy of the bathroom is welcome, at least, and a once he's there, Bucky lets out a quiet growl of frustration. He's an omega, so it's not a proper growl – a puppy growl, his dad calls it, which drives him nuts even if it is a pretty good description. He wets one of the washcloths on the counter and starts scrubbing furiously at the stain, staring at his own reflection and wishing that his hair would cooperate more, that his muscles were a little more defined. From outside the closed door, he can hear Sam and Steve talking quietly, someone laughing, the scrape of a chair shifting across the wood floor.

He's about to give up and even has his fingers on the door handle, planning to go to his room and change his shirt, when someone else opens the door from the other side. It's Steve, suddenly right in front of him and much, _much_ taller than him, but it's his scent that hits Bucky like a train. It fills the small space of the bathroom, more intense up close, and there's an undertone to it that he didn't detect earlier. It makes him dizzy almost instantly.

"Thought I should come give you a hand," Mr. Rogers says in a calm voice, and Bucky instantly hones in on it, looking up at his face with a slightly dazed expression. Steve's eyes dart down to the stain still on his shirt. "Looks like you need a little help." He's smiling, and Bucky doesn't know what to do. Never has he been this close to an alpha before, and he's certainly never been _alone_ with one. Sam has kept him protected, maybe even sheltered, from alphas all his life, telling Bucky that when he's old enough he'll meet a nice alpha who will take care of him.

Before he can come up with a response, Mr. Rogers puts big, warm hands on Bucky's shoulders, gently guiding him back into the bathroom so he can shut the door and leave them enclosed in the small space. Bucky doesn't even think to protest, going along easily with the alpha's guidance and never taking his eyes off his face. For once, his mind is blissfully quiet. Mr. Rogers is going to help him.

"Sit up on the counter," the alpha instructs, the understanding smile still on his face, and Bucky obeys without a thought. It puts him a little higher, closer to eye level with Steve but not quite. The alpha is at least six foot, and Bucky is still holding out for a growth spurt at five-four.

Even sitting still, Bucky's heart thuds hard in his chest, so loud he's sure Steve can hear it while the alpha soaps up one corner of the washcloth. And when the alpha gently spreads Bucky's legs so he can stand between them, his heart rate skyrockets. Somehow the new position makes him feel more exposed, which is ridiculous, because he's still wearing jeans.

Mr. Rogers dabs at the stain with the utmost care, gently coaxing it out of the fabric, but Bucky's eyes are on his face which is inches from his own. Steve isn't looking at him, his brow furrowed in concentration, and his scent is so heavy in the air that Bucky's eyelids start to droop, but his focus remains unwaveringly on the alpha. Does he smell this good to Mr. Rogers, too? Has his scent changed from that of a pup to a mature omega? He hasn't had his first heat yet, but he _did_ just turn fifteen. That's almost old enough.

"There you go," Steve says quietly, his deep voice cutting through the haze of Bucky's thoughts, clear as a bell. He finally looks up at Bucky again and smiles, and Bucky's smiling too before he even realizes what he means. There's a wet patch on his shirt where the fabric clings to his skin, but the stain is gone.

"Thanks," he breathes, and when Mr. Rogers steps back, he hops off the counter, like there's a tether tying them together. Between his legs feels strange, warm and almost pulsing, and he shifts slightly. He's waiting for Mr. Rogers to tell him what to do next, he realizes dimly, his eyelids heavy and his lips parted. He feels hypnotized, drawn deep into the dark blue of Steve's gaze, intense as he looks at Bucky. Something tells him that the alpha knows exactly the effect he's having on him, and God, Sam warned him that alphas could influence omegas, but he had no fucking clue it was this strong.

He's not sure how he got there, but a moment later he feels the bathroom wall against his back, and the hard, hot press of Steve's body against his front. Steve's like a wall himself, completely immovable, not that Bucky's _trying_ to move him. As soon as he registers that he's completely trapped between the two solid objects, Bucky's body goes limp and his mind blanks out, spiraling off somewhere blissful and dark and quiet. The only thing he can hear is Steve's breathing, even and steady.

Steve's strong hands are pinning his own to the wall on either side of him, his hold secure but painless, and the alpha's lips are at his ear. At some point, Bucky must have closed his eyes.

"Liked it when you called me 'sir', earlier," Mr. Rogers whispers, his breath warm. But he's not saying it as an explanation, merely remarking on it. He was planning to do this anyway. The thought makes Bucky whine sharply, the high sound surprising him. Steve's head slowly turns, and warm lips press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Say it again," he instructs, still speaking so quietly, just for Bucky. It takes a moment for the omega to find his voice, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

"S-sir," he mewls, without even a thought in his head questioning whether or not he should say it. The alpha lets out a satisfied growl, quiet but so deep that Bucky feels it rumbling through Steve's chest and in his own. The sound does things to him, makes him feel so goddamn helpless, with so much solid muscle keeping him pinned to the wall. It's like a high, and without his permission, Bucky's chin tilts up and exposes his neck for the alpha, his narrow chest heaving because every breath he takes is laced with the alpha's scent and he needs _more_.

"Look at you...such a good boy," Steve croons, and ducks his head to kiss along Bucky's neck, but not where he wants it. Not where he needs it.

"Please," he whimpers, his expression pinched and desperate. Mr. Rogers' legs shift, one of his knees forcing Bucky's apart until he presses a muscled thigh to the boy's crotch. A reward, Bucky thinks dimly, because at some point he got hard as a rock in his pants, and the pressure feels like absolute heaven. He's also slick, which hasn't happened before, isn't supposed to happen until his first heat, but he wouldn't be surprised if he's soaked straight through his jeans. He whines again, and Steve shushes him gently.

"Gotta keep quiet, or your daddy might hear," the alpha chastises, nosing at Bucky's scent glands and breathing deeply. "You wouldn't want him to come investigate, would you? He might see his innocent little puppy, reeking of slick like a bitch in heat."

As soon as he's finished speaking, Steve bites down on the muscle where Bucky's neck and shoulder meet, on his bonding gland. Not hard enough to break the skin, or mark him as a mate would, but it makes Bucky seize up and come instantly. His hips spasm as much as they can while pinned, and the alpha presses his thigh almost painfully hard against him, letting Bucky rub up on him and ride out his orgasm. He nearly blacks out, but he obeys the alpha, not making a sound except for a soft, startled whimper.

Once the pleasure passes, Steve releases his wrists, easing the pressure off his body until there's a little space between them. Bucky forces his eyes to open, blinking up at the alpha and trying to get his vision to focus. A strong hand cups his jaw and helps him, until the image of Steve's face resolves in front of him.

"Get yourself cleaned up," the alpha says gently, but it's clearly an order. Bucky barely manages a nod before Steve's moving away, out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

...

 

He _did_ soak through his jeans. He has to change his entire outfit before he can return to the dining room, and it doesn't help that his legs don't want to support his weight and his head is so fuzzy he can barely think. It gets a little easier once he tugs on a new shirt, one that doesn't reek of alpha, and the scent is no longer sending him into a daze.

Bucky's still stumbling though, when he comes down the hallway to rejoin dinner, his legs wobbling terribly. His eyes immediately seek out Steve, who's sitting down and eating and talking with Sam like nothing ever happened. His hair and clothes don't look the least bit ruffled. There's a blush high on Bucky's cheeks as he takes his seat, his ass still feeling strange even though he cleaned himself well, just like Steve told him to. If his dad gives him a weird look about the whole new outfit he's put on, he doesn't notice.

He's quiet for the rest of dinner – _submissive_ , an annoying voice in the back of his mind says – and still can't stop glancing at Steve. The place he bit throbs pleasantly on Bucky's neck, a reminder.

It's childish of him to hope that Steve liked what happened as much as Bucky did. He hopes anyway.

When they say their goodbyes at the end of the night, Steve putting on his shoes and jacket and telling Sam he'll see him at work Monday, Bucky hangs back a bit. It's not normal for him to be shy; he doesn't get out of the house much, because his dad doesn't want him around strangers, but he's always very talkative with his dad's friends, and their kids, who are Bucky's friends. Sam seems to notice, and urges Bucky forward to say a proper goodbye to Mr. Rogers.

Steve gives him a warm smile when he steps closer, and Bucky can't help but mirror it, his anxiety melting away just like that.

"Pleasure to meet you, Bucky," he says genuinely, and the double meaning doesn't escape his notice. His words _good boy_ from earlier echo in Bucky's mind, and he feels a bit of the blissful haziness from earlier returning. Steve seems to deliberate for a moment. "Y'know, I majored in military history in college. If you'd like to pick my brain for your dissertation, I'd be happy to help out."

Bucky's eyes widen and he feels his dad's hands on his shoulders when Sam comes to stand behind him.

"He would love that," Sam answers, translating Bucky's silence when it becomes clear he's not going to speak. "You wanna come over again on Sunday, so you two can geek out?"

"Sounds perfect." Steve gives them each one last smile, his gaze lingering on Bucky, before he heads out the door.

...

 

It hits Bucky later that night, when he's brushing his teeth in the same bathroom where an alpha had him pinned against the wall earlier that evening. His hands start shaking and the rest of him follows, until it gets so bad that he has to brace himself against the sink. The first alpha he's ever had a close interaction with, and he completely submitted to him. Without even a thought. An alpha who's at least twice his age.

It's not his fault, he tells himself, and believes it. Steve clearly knew what he was doing, the way he was affecting him. He was using it to his advantage, doing it on purpose, and...and....

And it felt so good. Fuck, it felt _so_ damn good.

It really is just nerves making him tremble the way he is now, there's no doubt in Bucky's mind. Not a trace of fear or regret. As much power as Steve had over him, not once did he feel scared or threatened, or even in pain. Cared for, if anything. And so fucking horny. He'd bared his neck and gotten off on being bitten and humping the alpha's leg, like some feral dog, because something about Steve made him forget any sort of worries or inhibitions he had.

Like the fact that Steve is his father's age. And that if Bucky's dad knew any detail of what had happened in this bathroom, he would have Steve arrested in a heartbeat. That it would break Sam's heart to know that his son, who he tried so hard to teach the danger of alphas to, submitted to one so willingly. Bucky's seeing Steve again in two days. Does he want to repeat what happened earlier today, and go behind his dad's back again? Ignore every moral he's ever been taught?

Yes, God yes he does, he's already biting his lip and getting hard just thinking about it. About that hypnotic daze Steve put him in just by being close, and how he's never come that hard in his life. He wants to feel like that again, more than anything.

When he goes back to his bedroom, he roots around through the clothes on his floor until he finds the grey t-shirt he was wearing, the one Steve got the stain out of. He lifts the soft fabric to his nose and inhales, and his legs nearly give out. It smells like alpha, like Steve – he wants to kneel on the floor, wants to drop his shoulders to the carpet and present, spread his legs—

Bucky shakes his head and holds the shirt away from his face, the room spinning around him. He feels so sleepy all of a sudden, when minutes ago he was shaking with adrenaline. He was feeling like this earlier too, but the alpha had held his focus, keeping him alert only to what Steve was doing, what Steve was telling him. Without the alpha there, he just wants to sleep.

He crawls into bed holding the t-shirt, only breathing in the scent again once he's laying down. By the time he's deeply inhaled twice, he's not only asleep, but his underwear is soaked through with slick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so there's that. Talk to me about kinky shit in the comments.


	2. Studying

"Go easy on the syrup, okay kiddo?"

Bucky grins and sets the glass bottle down, his stack of pancakes nearly drowned in the sugary substance, and his dad shakes his head fondly at him from across the table.

"Sorry," Bucky half-laughs, digging in and stuffing a forkful into his mouth.

"No you're not."

"No, m'really not."

Bucky eats his syrupy masterpiece and Sam eats his banana pancakes in companionable silence. It's Saturday, and that always means pancakes, waffles, or crepes for breakfast, depending on the mood they're in. It's Bucky's favorite day of the week. But it's slightly tainted now; Bucky's always had an incredibly guilty conscience when it comes to his dad. They're always honest with each other. Sam admits to Bucky when the stuff he deals with at work becomes too heavy even for him, when counseling veterans hits too close to home. And Bucky will let him know whenever his schoolwork is too challenging, or when he feels holed up inside the house he spends most of his time in. For any situation, the solution is usually a trip to the small, beta-run ice cream shop down the block. It's quiet and full of friendly faces, and usually alpha-free.

So now, keeping possibly the biggest secret he's ever had from the person he talks to about everything, Bucky feels more than a little guilty. Sam is always so understanding, but he knows for certain that this is one thing his dad just won't get. Not only because he's biased in wanting his son to be a kid forever, but because he's a beta. He's not affected by an alpha's scent _nearly_ as much as omegas. If he were, Bucky's certain he would have emphasized its power more when he was warning him about alphas and how to avoid falling under their influence. He barely even touched on their scent, all the times he lectured Bucky on safety, only briefly mentioning that it's enticing to omegas.

Bucky's never felt anything like Mr. Rogers' scent made him feel last night. He woke up this morning in the exact same position he fell asleep in, his limbs feeling heavy like he'd been drugged and passed out. And judging by the mess in his underwear, he came at least twice in his sleep. Just from the trace of scent lingering on the shirt.

"So, what did you think about meeting your first alpha?" his dad suddenly asks, looking at Bucky over his glass of OJ. And it makes him flounder for a moment, the way his dad seems to be reading his mind.

"Good," he answers with an awkward nod, clearing his throat when his voice comes out too high-pitched. "Yeah, good. He was...nice."

Sam raises an eyebrow and quirks his mouth, obviously picking up on the fact that Bucky's not saying everything he's thinking. Bucky just eats his breakfast and plays innocent, and luckily his dad drops it, probably because he assumes it's not nearly as bad as it really is. A schoolboy crush, at worst.

"Maybe I'll have him around more often, then," Sam muses, and Bucky can't tell if his dad is trying to tease him or not. "Steve's one of my best friends at work. And you can learn a lot from him."

Bucky nods enthusiastically, mouth full of pancake, and squirms slightly in his seat. He isn't getting slick, thank goodness, because he's quickly discovered what a mess that makes, but his cock is beginning to stir. And he's wearing thin pajama pants, AKA the worst kind of pants to get a boner in front of your dad in. Great.

"I'm impressed with how well you did, y'know, having him over. You were so polite, I was proud of you," Sam continues.

Bucky doesn't have much context for how omegas his age are supposed to act around alphas, but he's pretty sure that humping the leg of the first alpha who got within five feet of him doesn't exactly qualify as "doing well." He hides the way his face turns bright red by chugging down his orange juice.

...

 

By Sunday morning, the alpha scent on the shirt has worn off almost completely, and the pleasantly sore spot on his neck where Steve bit is no longer sensitive to the touch. Bucky has also come more times in the past forty-eight hours than he normally does in a week. It's interesting, how he has no control over the way he immediately produces slick when he can smell the alpha, but he can't seem to do it otherwise. When he jacks off in the shower, remembering how it felt to be pinned against the wall by someone so strong, he gets so hard he's lightheaded, but not the slightest bit slick.

Other omegas go about their lives hanging around alphas and their scent everyday, and Bucky has no fucking clue how they function.

Mr. Rogers isn't coming over until the afternoon, and Bucky spends the entire morning in an anxious craze. The first thing he does is clean. His room, himself (everywhere – places he didn't even know he had), his laundry. He puts on clothes fresh out of the dryer, so they'll have no other scents on them, which might be going a little overboard, but whatever. He even wears a flannel shirt, unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves, with a v-neck under it, just so he'll have two layers and therefor more clothes that'll reek of alpha.

And then, once everything is tidied, the second-guessing starts. He tries about five different hairstyles, trying to be inconspicuous about it because he doesn't want his dad giving him any shit. And then he starts wondering whether or not Mr. Rogers even wants to do... _that_ again. For an alpha as desirable as Steve, who could have any omega or beta he wants, he might have just wanted to take Bucky for a test drive. A quick way to get off. And now he actually just wants to come over to teach Bucky about World War II, because Bucky is just a stupid kid and why would a dreamboat, thirty-something alpha want a clueless omega who doesn't even have his drivers' license?

That's when Bucky starts actually getting out his notes and drafts of his dissertation, organizing them casual-neat on the desk in his room. If Steve really does just want to help him write it, Bucky just hopes he can keep it together for a couple of hours and not come in his pants or slip into a stupor like he did in the bathroom.

But...no, it wasn't just a quick way to get off, was it? Because Mr. Rogers didn't even come. And he said "pleasure to meet you," that has to mean something, right?

It doesn't help that Bucky's never so much as been on a date before.

A knock echoes through their apartment at 2:15, right on time. Bucky's heart decides to take up tap-dancing in his chest, and thank goodness his dad answers the door, because he's certainly in no condition to. Mr. Rogers steps inside, wearing a running shirt so tight Bucky can see the outline of his abs. He's saying hello and making small talk with his dad, and Bucky's sitting on the couch in the living room awkwardly watching because he doesn't trust his legs to have the strength to hold him up. He looks just as big and strong and gorgeous as Bucky remembers, maybe more, and his smile is fucking blinding.

Mr. Rogers looks over at him and catches his eye, grinning even wider; just like the other night, Bucky finds himself grinning back before he can even think about it, sunny and genuine. His anxiety and uncertainty is still there, but pushed to the side for a moment, and seems less important.

"Hey Buck," Steve says warmly. No one's ever called him that before, and he already likes it. In one of Steve's big hands is a thick hardcover book and a binder, and he holds them up for Bucky to see. Disappointment makes his heart sink; this really is just about the dissertation. "Brought some stuff for you. D'you have someplace we can work?"

"Yeah, yeah I do," he answers in a rush. He can't smell Steve yet, so he's got a relatively clear head, but it doesn't stop him from acting like an idiot.

"Show me," Steve says, and just like that Bucky's getting to his feet, the unsteadiness gone because the alpha told him to do something, and he wants to get it done.

"You two let me know if you want snacks or anything," his dad calls after them, but Bucky barely hears him, showing Steve down the hall into his bedroom. It's not very big, but at least it's clean, and he's got enough room for his desk and bookshelf with the rest of his bedroom furniture. That's what really matters.

It's bizarre, having Steve in his bedroom. He looks almost too big to be there. Bucky can't smell him yet, and maybe that's a good thing; maybe Mr. Rogers was just coming off a rut the other day, and that's why he smelled so strongly. He's glancing around at Bucky's baseball posters, and after a moment of deliberation, Bucky shuts the door behind them.

"So, I've got a couple drafts going, of the introduction and the conclusion. And an outline of the rest of it." He gestures to the desk where his notes are laid out, and Steve sets the book and binder he brought beside them, but then he turns completely away from the desk to face Bucky, something surprised and affectionate in his eyes.

"Oh, sweet boy...you actually thought we were just going to work," he breathes, shock and warmth coloring his voice.

Bucky doesn't make sense of his words at first, but it turns out he doesn't have to. Mr. Rogers closes the space between them and takes Bucky's face in his big hands, bending to kiss him in the same movement.

It feels like free-fall, how quickly Bucky's body relaxes and his mind goes blank when the alpha's scent envelopes him. Unlike last time, when it happened gradually, Bucky snaps to that fuzzy state that makes his body feel warm and pliant so dizzyingly fast it leaves him disoriented. The alpha is kissing him, slow and delving and doing exactly the right things to him.

"Whoa, hey there," comes Steve's soft laugh, and suddenly strong arms are around him, holding him up. He was falling, he realizes belatedly, his eyes slowly blinking open to look up at the alpha dazedly. He doesn't remember closing them, but his eyelids feel so heavy he can barely keep them open except to look at Steve. Head filled with that musky, addicting scent, and his legs won't work properly.

Steve smiles at him, warm and dazzling, and leans in to press a torturously slow trail of gentle kisses from the corner of Bucky's mouth to his ear. His lips brush against it and his breath is hot when he speaks.

"We've got about an hour. And you can't make a sound, little puppy, or your daddy will find us out," he whispers, and kisses his earlobe. "Can you be a good puppy for me? Can you keep quiet?"

Bucky is so slick already that he'll have to change his outfit again. His hips jerk forward at Steve's words, and he swallows hard before he finds his voice.

"Yes sir," he answers, breathy. Mr. Rogers must like that answer, because he moans and drops his head onto Bucky's shoulder.

"Good," the alpha murmurs in a rough voice. "'Cause you got no idea how bad I want you, little one."

A high, desperate whine leaves Bucky's throat, and Steve's hands tug the flannel shirt down from Bucky's shoulders, around his forearms to restrain them there in the fabric, behind his back. He wriggles just to feel how trapped he is, his chest heaving and his head getting foggier with every breath.

"Sir," he whimpers, pleading, and a low growl reverberates from the alpha. It has the same effect as last time, Bucky's head tipping back to expose his neck, submitting completely. The flannel shirt around his arms is pulled off, he thinks, but he can't make his arms do anything anyway.

By the time he's able to blink open his eyes again, he's somehow lying on his back, on his twin bed, and the alpha's weight is pressing comfortingly down on him. He couldn't get away even if he wanted to. He instinctively spreads his legs as wide as they'll go in his skinny jeans, needy sounds escaping him.

"Hush, sweet boy, I got you," Steve murmurs against his neck, right at the place he wants to feel the press of teeth. "You're alright."

And he believes it. There's not a single cell in his brain that doubts this man will take care of him, make him feel so good just like last time.

He lets the alpha maneuver him, since his muscles feel almost too weak to lift his arms, as Steve undresses them both. Bucky's unfocused gaze watches him as much as he can, with stars in his eyes and a vacant smile on his face. The alpha is beautiful. Muscled just on the right side of intimidating, but his rough hands that are practically the size of Bucky's head are gentle when they touch him. Almost reverent. Bucky is soft-edged and small compared to him, as most omegas are.

Some distant part of his brain that's still firing on most cylinders is saying that he should be at least a little embarrassed at being exposed, for very many reasons. And though his skin is flushed pink all the way down to his navel, it's not out of bashfulness of any kind. Mr. Rogers knows best. Mr. Rogers is going to take care of him.

His pants are tugged down and off his legs, which spread again as if to present, to show the alpha what's his to take. Slick is sticky where it's run down his thighs, and big hands push his knees further apart, cool air hitting overheated skin. Mr. Rogers' gaze is heated when he looks at Bucky spread out in front of him, and it makes him feel helpless and so incredibly needy at the same time.

"Alpha?" Bucky says quietly, and Steve's eyes immediately move from between his legs to his face, attentive. It makes him think of the other night at dinner, when he was made to feel like the most important thing in the room. He meant to tell the alpha that he's never done this before, but the words get lost, and the attention in his gaze makes him think Steve already knows. The alpha just smiles softly at him, and crawls back up over Bucky to kiss him slow and gentle. The world goes fuzzy again, Bucky's eyes drifting shut and time slipping away from him like water through his fingers.

He still doesn't know what kind of trance Mr. Rogers puts him in or if he's doing it on purpose, but not one bit of him cares when he forces his eyes open again and the alpha is naked on top of him. They aren't kissing anymore, probably because Bucky's entire body feels slack and weighted down in submission, every bit of him heavy and warm and blissful. He tries valiantly to get his vision to focus, but all he gets is vague images of swollen muscle shining soft in the light, Steve's blue eyes intent on him, and the distant impression that the room is spinning.

And then...oh God, there's pressure between his legs, against his hole that's still dripping slick. Something hot and smooth and thick presses inside him, slow but not stopping – it goes in so easily, but it shouldn't, it doesn't make sense because the alpha's cock feels so big inside him that he shouldn't be able to take more in, but he can, and he does. And even more bizarre, it feels euphoric. He wants _more_. His whole body is lighting up with pleasure, every nerve ending, and he doesn't realize he's letting out a long, high-pitched cry until Mr. Rogers gently shushes him with a kiss.

"That's a good boy...fuck, you feel so good, puppy, you make me so happy..."

The whispered words heighten his bliss. He's a good puppy, he can be good for the big strong alpha. He can be a good boy and they'll both feel so good. Everything is just so good.

Mr. Rogers snaps his hips forward hard, just once, and it makes him want to cry out again, but he doesn't. His daddy could hear, the alpha said. And then they might have to stop. God, he never wants to stop...

Seemingly having passed the test, Bucky gets fucked hard and fast after that, and he has to bite his lip to stay quiet; every time the alpha moves inside him, it sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine, until it's all he feels, constant and thrumming. His head tips back against the pillow and his breath comes quick and shallow, his arms lifting to weakly cling around Mr. Rogers' neck and shoulders, holding on for dear life with all the strength he has. Outside his bedroom, Bucky can hear the TV, where Sam is watching it in the living room not twenty feet away.

"Imagine if your daddy walked in right now," the alpha says in his ear, panting slightly but barely winded, even though he's shifting the omega up the bed a few more centimeters with every thrust. "If he saw his little puppy getting fucked stupid. You wouldn't even want me to stop, would you? You're so needy for it you'd beg for me to keep going while he watched..."

Bucky imagines it. Vividly, as though the alpha's putting the vision of it in his mind. It makes him gasp, makes his back arch, and he doesn't even know why, but within seconds his small cock is pulsing between them, and his thoughts completely white out a split second before he's coming, practically convulsing beneath the alpha. His stretched hole clenches hard on the cock still fucking him, and it makes it feel even better, ragged gasps falling from his lips.

The pleasure seems to stretch on and on, and just when he thinks it's faded, the alpha on top of him growls suddenly and slams his hips forward, then stills completely. He's coming, Bucky dimly registers, and then— _oh_.

Of course he's heard about how getting knotted is supposed to make an omega feel, but it didn't prepare him for this. For the way Steve's knot so quickly swells inside him that he thinks he might burst, and for a moment there's fear – and then blank, spiraling bliss, and his whole body relaxes, his eyelids drooping as he stares listlessly at the ceiling. It would be painful, how full he feels, except that the knot is pressing so hard against his prostate that he feels nothing but pulses of pleasure each time Steve's cock throbs inside him.

Some base part of him feels satisfied like he never has before. This is what he's meant to do.

Time becomes watery again. There's a hand in his hair, petting him gently, and plush lips kissing different parts of his face in turn. Only once the knot inside him begins to recede does he regain any sort of brain function, blinking wide-eyed as the world seems to come back into focus.

Steve is there. He's close, and smiling, and touching him so sweetly, and a slow grin spreads across Bucky's face.

"Alpha," he breathes, awed, and reaches up to brush his fingertips over Mr. Rogers' strong jaw, to make sure he's real.

"Right here," Steve murmurs back, knowing exactly what he needs.

He feels...fragile, somehow. Like if the alpha leaves his side, he'll crash down from this euphoria, and it will hurt. But Steve doesn't leave, he just keeps petting his hair and smiling at him, and when Bucky finds himself blinking back hot tears – even though he's not upset, he's truly not – the alpha pulls him closer against his muscled chest and nuzzles against him.

"You're safe here. I'm not goin' anywhere," he croons, and Bucky grips one of his biceps to keep him close even though there's hardly any space between them.

The longer they lie there, the more higher brain functions Bucky gets back. They barely fit on the twin bed side by side, and Mr. Rogers is _big_. Really, very big, even more than the tight running shirt led him to believe. He's all muscle and power, contrasted or maybe complemented by the kindly concerned expression on his face, the way he holds the small omega like he's the most precious thing on Earth. It doesn't make Bucky feel weak. In fact it makes him feel big and important in a way that he doesn't quite know what to do with yet.

When he's finished looking the alpha up and down, admiring him now that he can think somewhat straight, he meets Steve's gaze, much more focused and present than he was a few minutes ago.

"Are you back with us again?" Mr. Rogers asks playfully. It makes Bucky huff a soft laugh, and he nods. Their faces are only inches apart, the alpha's scent still overwhelming, but it's just a light fog on his mind now, just enough to make everything seem a little brighter, a little more pleasant.

"That was..." Bucky trails off, laughing quietly at himself and shaking his head. "I didn't know I could feel like that."

He's still in slight disbelief, his whole body tingling. He can still hear _Parks and Recreation_ playing on the TV in the living room.

"Wanted to do that the second I saw you, puppy," Mr. Rogers murmurs affectionately. Now that he's not completely high on alpha scent, the pet name makes Bucky blush, in a good way. A very good way.

When they finally shift apart, and Steve's soft cock slips out of him, Bucky's heart falls and at first he doesn't know why; the alpha was wearing a condom. Bucky watches him pull it off and wrap it in a tissue before tossing it in the trash can next to his desk. That innate part of himself, that felt so fulfilled at being knotted, wilts a little.

Being bred is part of being an omega. Of course it's not what all of them want, but for most, he's heard, it's a strong, instinctual pull to be fucked and made heavy with pups. He's never felt it before now. But he's fifteen, and there's no sense in it, especially not before his first heat.

"Will we do this again, sir?" Bucky finds himself asking when Steve helps him to his feet. His legs are unsteady, but he manages to stay upright, looking up at the alpha with hopeful eyes.

Steve takes his face in both of his hands, so he can't look away, and the sudden intensity of the alpha's gaze makes Bucky think he's about to get some bad news. But then Mr. Rogers says, very seriously,

"Yes. Absolutely. As soon as possible." The alpha grins a little mischievously, and Bucky can't suppress a giddy laugh, holding lightly to Steve's wrists and feeling on top of the world.

"I actually did bring that book because I thought it might be of interest to you," Mr. Rogers tells him while they pull on items of clothing as they find them on the floor. He nods towards the book on the desk that Bucky completely forgot about. "Wasn't lying about the major in military history, either."

"Here, I think this is yours – did you serve, like my dad?" Bucky asks, handing Steve an unfamiliar sock that somehow found its way onto the bookshelf.

"Yeah, I did. I'll tell you about it sometime, puppy, but not right now." The way he says it makes Bucky think it's a delicate subject, which isn't a surprise, and he doesn't press further. Once Mr. Rogers straightens up after tugging on his sock, he cups the back of Bucky's head, pulling him in to kiss his forehead. "Right now," he continues, meeting his eye, "we have to face your dad, little one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me about kinky shit in the comments


	3. Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to heavily imply incest. Feel free to go off on me in the comments, as I've said before, I definitely deserve it. Just don't be surprised by what you find, I feel like I've given you enough warning.
> 
> And sorry this is so short! I wanted to give you something but I've been busy this past week (I turned twenty, three days ago, nbd)

Bucky wants to talk to Steve more. He wants to stay in the privacy of his bedroom and lay with the alpha and get to know him, but they've already been alone too long, and the last thing he needs is his dad getting suspicious. It didn't feel like that long, but when he looks at the clock on his nightstand, it shows that nearly an hour has passed already.

"It makes me lose time," he realizes aloud, somewhat dazedly. His gaze drifts back up to Steve's, and he clarifies, "your scent. I had no idea we'd been in here so long..."

Mr. Rogers kisses his hair and straightens the collar of his flannel for him, making sure they don't look like they've just had sex.

"It does a lot of things like that. Later I'll tell you all the things your scent does to _me_ , puppy," Steve murmurs, and gives him a fond smile. Something warm expands in Bucky's chest, knowing he's making the alpha feel things too, and he automatically leans into his touch when Mr. Rogers tries to fix his hair.

"And you're gonna come over again, right? And tell my dad we're studying more?" he asks just in case. Steve pulls a small white tube from his pocket and squeezes what looks like lotion onto his fingers.

"Yeah, that's the plan. Hold still for me."

The alpha starts gently rubbing the lotion into the skin of Bucky's jaw and neck and cheeks. It isn't scented, that he can tell. It just smells clean, if anything. His brow furrows in confusion, until he realizes what he _can't_ smell anymore, and then his expression crumples in an anguish he doesn't fully understand.

"No...no, please no," he's whining softly before he can stop himself, begging pathetically. He moves forward to press against the alpha again, to get his scent back on him, but firm hands on his waist halt his motions.

"I'm sorry, puppy, I'm so sorry," Steve murmurs, sounding distraught. But he doesn't nuzzle against Bucky, which is what he _needs_. "I shoulda done this the other night too. What would your daddy think, if you had my scent all over you?"

He's right, Bucky knows he is, but he _needs_.

All he can do is watch while Steve reluctantly rubs the lotion into his own skin too, ridding himself of Bucky's scent. It makes him feel small, but the quick kiss that Steve gives him when he's finished makes it a little better.

What they did today can't be undone. It's big, Bucky knows that, something he might come to regret. But he doesn't now, not even a bit; he's still tingling oddly and feeling a little unbalanced, like every afterglow he's ever heard of. If only he had more time to bask in it.

"Buck," Mr. Rogers says quietly, as though he doesn't already have his full attention. The alpha's eyebrows are drawn together in concern, and it looks like he's struggling not to reach out to touch Bucky's face.

"Yes sir?" he prompts quietly when Steve doesn't continue, deliberately using the honorific because it makes one corner of the alpha's mouth curve up in a smile.

After seeming to think for a moment, Mr. Rogers leaves his side, going to Bucky's desk. He flips open the binder – which is full of handwritten notes and not just a prop, Bucky's slightly surprised to see – and leafs through it until he finds a blank sheet of paper. He tears it from the rungs and scribbles something down, turning to Bucky again and pressing it into his hand.

"My phone number. When you're alone and clear-headed, text me, okay?" The way the alpha says it...it's not an order, it's a request. "We gotta lot to talk about, and I'd rather do it while neither of us are...influenced."

The fact that it takes Bucky a few seconds to register Mr. Rogers' words, for them to sink into his fogged brain enough to respond to them, reminds him that they are still in an enclosed space with each other's scents.

"Right. Yeah, I will," he promises, taking the slip of paper and stuffing it into his pocket.

Bucky doesn't think he'll ever understand the way Steve looks at him, but he definitely likes it. The alpha smiles softly at him, stepping close to squeeze Bucky's shoulder affectionately, warmth spreading from the spot even through his two shirts.

"Good boy." The way the alpha smiles tells Bucky he knows _exactly_ the kind of effect he's having on him, and for a moment Bucky's not sure he's going to be able to stand, his legs suddenly feeling weak with the urge to kneel.

...

 

The world doesn't end when they go out into the living room and face Sam. He doesn't seem to suspect anything either, though Mr. Rogers talks so smoothly and casually to him that it's not a surprise. They say their goodbyes, and schedule a time for Steve to come over again, later this week.

Bucky wants to see him so much sooner than that, but he's still got the piece of paper in his pocket, a way to talk to him at least.

He manages to wait until just after dinner to text Mr. Rogers. It's a practice of self-restraint, but he doesn't want to seem like the inexperienced, over-eager kid he really is. And it's healthy, he tells himself, to take some time to let what happened earlier actually register. Part of him still doesn't even believe it happened. The whole experience felt so surreal, like one of those dreams where so many good things happen that would never happen in real life. Bucky's still waiting for the disappointing moment when he wakes up.

He isn't even sore – not yet, anyway. The entire area between his legs feels tingly, a little more sensitive but not in a painful way, leaving him squirming in his seat all through dinner. His dad must mistake it for restlessness, because he frees Bucky to go to the privacy of his room without their usual dessert-and-a-movie.

As soon as he's got the door shut behind him, Bucky lays out on the bed, which still smells faintly of alpha. He takes out his phone and the paper and punches in the number as a new contact, before he opens up a new message box. For a moment, he wonders if he should be touching himself, but...no, Mr. Rogers said clear-headed, and he's not going to be able to think straight if he's getting off while the alpha texts him.

 _Hi, sir,_ he sends without too much hesitation. The faint scent of the alpha on his sheets is already making his eyelids droop, feeling drowsy in a pleasant sort of way. He's more aware of how soft the sheets are beneath him, and the gentle orange glow of the sunset through his closed window shades. He feels safe.

 _Hi, sweet puppy,_ comes the reply less than a minute later, and Bucky smiles at his phone. The screen says Steve is typing, and Bucky waits patiently.

_How are you feeling? You did a pretty grown-up thing today._

Bucky's not an idiot, and he knows Mr. Rogers knows that too. He knows he doesn't have as much experience with stuff like this as other people his age, but he does have internet access. And common sense.

Mr. Rogers talks to him like he's younger than he really is. Gentle, sweet, and simple; Bucky didn't know that something could make him feel so safe and so damn horny at the same time. It makes his thoughts fuzzy and sends his mind somewhere nice and warm.

 _Feeling real good. I liked it a lot,_ he sends off, and then after a moment's thought, he adds, _Did I do good, sir?_

_Yeah, puppy, you were perfect. Exactly what I wanted._

The alpha's almost immediate reply makes Bucky's muscles relax a little more. His very first time, and he did good – not that it was exactly easy to mess up, now that he thinks about it. Mr. Rogers did most of the work, but Bucky did what omegas are supposed to do, from what he's heard. He submitted, he listened well, and it was so freeing to know that the big strong alpha was going to take care of him, make him feel better than he ever had in his life.

 _Am I allowed to touch myself?_ he types, uncertain. Alphas can be possessive, obsessed with being obeyed, but he's so hard in his jeans he risks asking.

_Of course. I don't wanna stop you from feeling good, you deserve it._

Bucky can't help smiling again, hardly looking away from the phone on his mattress while he shoves off his jeans. It shows Steve is typing again, and he wants to see the text as soon as it comes through.

_I'm so glad you enjoyed today as much as I did...can't wait to fuck you senseless again, little one._

Bucky whines, high and quiet in his throat, taking his cock in hand. It's pretty small, like all omegas are – even fully hard, only the head pokes out when he curls his fist around it. Must feel even smaller, in Mr. Rogers' big hands.

 _Want you to please,_ he manages to type with one hand, steadily jerking himself with the other. Steve's next reply takes a few moments, and Bucky wonders if he's touching himself too.

_Your wish is my command. Sleep well tonight, puppy._

_Goodnight sir,_ Bucky sends, wishing the alpha would keep texting him, but he isn't gonna be able to send coherent replies in a few moments. His eyes drift shut and he imagines Mr. Rogers watching him right now, watching the omega with his legs spread and his hand working over his cock. He imagines...

It's not something he dwells on anymore – he used to, and all it got him was guilt, not strong enough to make him change his habit – but he usually thinks about his dad when he jerks off. It's no secret that Sam is an attractive beta, and most of the people Bucky knows are other omegas, anyway. He figures it's normal, too wary of his search history being found out to Google it, but it _must_ be normal if your dad is that good looking, right?

He's imagined so many scenarios before, since he first learned how to make himself feel good that way, that it's become second nature to him now. Any other time, he shuts that part of his brain off, doesn't let himself see his dad as anything other than just that. But now, Mr. Rogers has put new images in his head, new scenarios...he indulges more than usual.

Tugging at his cock, he tries to remember the feeling of getting fucked by the alpha. How strong his hands felt on him, the rocking rhythm of being pounded into over and over, the warm weight keeping him down and the stretch of a cock inside him. And how his dad could walk in and...and see him like that, at any time – the bedroom door was unlocked, he could have heard something, or come in to check on them. And Steve was absolutely right, Bucky's not sure he would have even wanted to stop getting fucked, but not for the same reason the alpha was probably thinking.

Mr. Rogers likely assumes that Bucky is such a horny teenager, not even a stampede could come between him and getting off. And he's not wrong, but he probably isn't accounting for the fact that Bucky also wouldn't mind his dad seeing him in that state.

Of course, that's in a perfect world, where Sam isn't repulsed and offended by the idea of joining in on fucking his own son. Where he isn't disgusted by the things Bucky wants in the deepest, most well-hidden corners of his thoughts. Its a world where Bucky isn't plagued by guilt for it, either, because it's _his_ fantasy, goddamnit.

He bites the pillow when he comes, spilling over his hand with the image of his dad taking a turn fucking him after Steve bright in his mind. Moments later, falling back down from his high, Bucky feels sick with guilt, more so than usual.

Letting the scent of alpha lingering on his sheets comfort him, he gives in to the way it fogs his tangled thoughts, sinking into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Jordyn, aka bucky_bear, for being my main motivation for writing this sinful trash


	4. Lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains breathplay, so if that's not your thing, you might wanna skip this one. I will reiterate that this fic is fucked up as all hell and I deserve any comment-scorn you wanna send my way.

When Bucky sees his dad the next day, he feels his face heat up with shame. He can't tell if it's because of what he and Mr. Rogers did – rather, what Mr. Rogers did _to him_ – or what he thought about last night. But he's usually able to separate the part of him that wants such filthy things from the rational side of his brain; it's the only way he found he could face his father in the morning, when he first started indulging in fantasies while he touched himself. He doesn't even think about it during the day, not once, so it doesn't plague him.

Today is different. Maybe being around an alpha has boosted his sex drive. He can't stop thinking about how Mr. Rogers always calls Sam his "daddy", which Bucky hasn't called his dad since he was about ten years old, but now finds himself struggling not to say, while Sam obliviously takes him through his school lessons.

The worst part is that if his dad knew about any of this, what he's been doing, what he's been thinking, he would be too kind to even be angry. He would be disappointed, heartbroken, and that's so much worse. Sam might even blame himself, might start thinking he went wrong somewhere in Bucky's upbringing, but Bucky knows that ain't true. He's been nothing but understanding and loving as a father, it's Bucky who's fucked up.

Would he even feel this way if Sam were his biological father? If he weren't adopted? He honestly has no idea, and he'd be afraid to find out.

The only thing that keeps him sane enough not to break down and confess everything to his dad is the fact that Mr. Rogers checks up on him everyday via text. It's not small-talk, but it's not sexting either, both of which Bucky expected. He just makes sure Bucky's okay, and tells him to do small things like drink plenty of water, and to go outside and enjoy the sunshine when the weather is nice. It's comforting, in that it takes Bucky's mind off his inner turmoil, and gives him something to look forward to.

The book Mr. Rogers lent him is annotated the entire way through, too, with sticky notes and small things penned in the margins. Things like "I think you'll enjoy this bit" and "this could be very useful in your argument" and additional, amusing facts the book doesn't include. It's all very personal, and clearly took a lot of effort, which makes Bucky feel important, though he still doesn't understand why Mr. Rogers would go through all that trouble.

It's almost too good. Bucky doesn't know what to do with all of this, or how to even believe it's real. He forces himself to ask his dad, once and for all, how old Mr. Rogers is, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. Sam and Steve were born less than a year apart, it turns out. Which means that when Bucky was born, Mr. Rogers was already twenty years old.

Bucky has to jack off twice in the next hour just to keep his dick from aching with want, which confirms his suspicion that there's something seriously fucked up in his brain. A switch flipped the wrong way, maybe.

He sees Mr. Rogers again four days later. Once again it's under the guise of studying – and he really has learned a lot, from the notes the alpha left him – and the only reason Bucky is able to get to sleep the night before is because Steve's scent still lingers on one of his shirts, and it never fails to make him drowsy.

Mr. Rogers arrives wearing a button down shirt and slacks, which somehow manages to show off more of his figure than the running shirt did. It's all Bucky can do to stay on his feet, but luckily his dad is otherwise occupied; Sam is mixing his smoothies for him to have the rest of the week, like he does every Thursday. It leaves bowls of fruit strewn across the counter for an hour or two, and Bucky usually locks himself in his room with headphones on while he does it, because of the noise, while his dad has a field day with the blender.

Sam comes out of the kitchen long enough to say hi to Steve and apologize about the noise before he goes back to smoothie-making, and the entire time, Bucky is in a near-trance state, his eyes locked on the alpha, waiting to be told what to do. Mr. Rogers smiles knowingly at him over Sam's shoulder.

The moment Bucky's bedroom door shuts behind them, the alpha hoists him up off his feet effortlessly – Bucky's legs wrap around his waist on instinct, holding on for dear life. But Mr. Rogers' arms are strong and secure around him, gripping him so close he can feel his muscled chest and the buttons on his shirt through his own clothes. Bucky lets out a breathy gasp that Steve stifles with a firm kiss, and then there's that addicting, dizzying plunge into bliss. The knowledge that this alpha is going to take care of him, that he doesn't have to worry about a damn thing.

There's a loud thud when Mr. Rogers slams Bucky against the wall opposite his door, just beside his window, but the grinding buzz of the blender has started up again, and Bucky can't even find the mental capacity to care if they're found out. His eyes are half-lidded and his heart pounds in his chest, feeling so small pressed between the wall and the massive alpha. Steve's hips roll sinuously against his, so hard that he can't even copy the motion, keeping him pinned and rubbing hard against his cock through their clothes.

"Missed you, puppy," Mr. Rogers pants against his neck, where he nips all too softly. All Bucky can do is whimper back at him, needy.

Bucky's feet don't touch the ground once while the alpha pulls off his clothes. He gets Bucky completely naked, but only unfastens his own pants enough to pull out his cock, and unbuttons his shirt. It amplifies the vulnerability Bucky already feels, completely at the mercy of this man, and has him so wet that his own arousal drips down his thighs within seconds.

"Sir," he whines, soft and shaky and trying to keep his eyes open. Thick in the air, the scent of the alpha makes his limbs feel heavier and heavier, until it's all he can do to hold onto Steve's broad shoulders. He seems to have no trouble supporting Bucky's limp body between himself and the wall, something hot and thick rubbing between the omega's legs.

"My good boy," Steve hums in response. "You gonna be nice and quiet for me?"

Bucky manages a nod and a dazed smile, and he's rewarded with a hungry kiss, Steve's tongue pushing into his mouth while he blissfully takes it. After a moment, the alpha's cock presses inside him, much quicker than the first time. There's no pain, but the sensation is still so alien that it takes his breath away; for a few seconds he can't decide whether to bury his face in the alpha's neck to scent him or throw his head back to present his own neck. What he ends up doing is sobbing quietly from the spasms of pleasure moving through him and tipping his head back, submitting, surrendering. From the angle he's getting fucked, it's nearly impossible to stay silent, but he bites his lip and breathes through his nose.

Mr. Rogers feels impossibly big inside him, and he's so goddamn strong, holding him up like he's nothing. Bucky wants to be good for him. He wants to be enough for this alpha who could have any omega or beta he desires. He wants to make Mr. Rogers feel good, and wear his mark, and carry his pups, he...he _wants_.

The force of Steve's thrusts jolts him up the wall each time, and it's _so hard_ not to cry out now. Bucky's breath comes quick and frantic, and when he opens his eyes to find Steve's and beg him to let him make just a little noise, he finds the alpha watching him already. Steve's gaze is intense, possessive, and Bucky's words get lost.

As if the alpha can read his mind, Mr. Rogers slows his thrusts, and Bucky lets out a shaky sigh of relief that morphs into a petulant whine. Steve laughs, quiet and rumbling, and plants a kiss on Bucky's temple.

"Scream for me, puppy. Just once," he instructs, and Bucky's eyes go wide. He can't hear the blender anymore – his dad is either finished or cutting up more fruit – but every cell in his body wants to obey the alpha, damn the consequences. And within moments Steve's thrusts pick up again, fast and brutal, and he doesn't really have much of a choice.

The scream is torn from his chest, loud, and he doesn't even have time to regret it or worry if more noises are going to slip out before something cuts off the sound completely.

Mr. Rogers' hand is around his throat, squeezing just hard enough to block his airway. It hurts, but the pain grows more and more distant the longer he keeps his hand there, until there's nothing but an airy, floating feeling. There's no shock, just complete and utter submission from the omega.

"Everything okay in there?"

His dad's voice sounds far too close, like he's just on the other side of the door, cutting through the silence of the room. Steve's hips have stopped moving.

"We're fine, Bucky stubbed his toe," the alpha replies smoothly, not even winded, slipping just the right amount of sympathy into his voice. Bucky's vision has just started going black and fuzzy at the edges when Steve's hand releases him, and he gulps a lungful of air. Pinned between their bodies, his cock throbs almost painfully hard.

"M'fine, Dad, don't worry," he manages. His voice sounds strained, like he's still regaining his breath...or like he's still in pain from banging his toe.

Mr. Rogers is choking him again just as he finishes speaking, his touch somehow gentle and restricting simultaneously. His dad says something else, but Bucky's head is too foggy to register it, and a second later he hears retreating footsteps. The pace of Steve's thrusts picks up again, until pleasure is building and building inside him, even faster with the dizzying lack of oxygen leaving him powerless to the alpha.

Bucky doesn't know why it feels so fucking good, the alpha having this much control over him, his vision slowly darkening the longer he's denied air. He knows the alpha won't let anything happen to him. He knows that with unwavering certainty, and at the moment, that's _all_ he knows. Without having to worry about accidentally making noise, and with his mental capacity dwindled to almost nothing, all he can focus on is the thick cock pounding into him, and it's ecstasy.

When he comes, which doesn't take long at all, he still can't take a breath. His dick pulses hard with every beat of his heart, pleasure wracking his small body and making him jerk. Mr. Rogers releases his throat as soon as it stops, and it's like a second orgasm, that first breath of air. His vision clears and his head spins as he gasps, his head tipped back against the wall while Steve keeps fucking him steadily. All he can feel is relief, stronger than he ever has.

By the time Mr. Rogers comes and his knot swells inside Bucky, the omega has regained some of his strength, moaning quietly and clinging to the alpha when he feels the knot's pressure inside him. It's even better than he remembered, his wet hole clenching weakly around the thick bulb that locks them together. Steve trembles almost imperceptibly against him, his breath hot as he pants quietly against Bucky's neck. A few quiet moments pass, both of them catching their breath, Sam's footfalls somewhere in the region of the living room. Mr. Rogers starts kissing softly along his neck, inhaling his scent, soothing the places left sore by his hand.

Slowly, Mr. Rogers backs them away from the wall, keeping Bucky's mostly limp body in his arms, and carries him to the bed. They're still joined, so the alpha lays them down carefully, cradling the boy close to his chest. More time passes, and Bucky nearly dozes off, especially once Steve starts playing with his hair.

"You liked breathplay, huh puppy?" the alpha asks, his deep voice rumbling and fond. A slow, lazy smile spreads across Bucky's face, and he nods into the pillow. He's never heard of it before, but it's definitely something he'll ask Mr. Rogers to do again. "Knew you would. You looked so sweet like that, all blissed out..."

Bucky hums because that's the only response he has enough energy to give, and Mr. Rogers kisses his forehead, running his fingers through his hair in the same soothing, repetitive motion. The omega's body is still thrumming pleasantly, but there's a quiet desperation too; _please don't leave._

Steve doesn't. He pulls out once his knot recedes enough to allow it, and Bucky keeps his eyes closed as he pulls out, not wanting to see what he already knows is there.

"Did'jya wear a condom again?" he whispers, curling a little closer to Steve's chest. It didn't feel any different than last time, but he's not exactly the best at paying attention to detail while there's a cock inside him.

"Yeah, I did," the alpha answers, sounding a little surprised. Bucky reaches out and finds Steve's shirt, still unbuttoned, and holds onto it. The base satisfaction he felt at being knotted bleeds away a little. "Did you want me not to?" Steve presses gently. Bucky nods, ashamed. He's fifteen; of course this well-to-do alpha isn't thinking about having pups with him. It's just dumb instincts, his dad warned him about this...

Mr. Rogers makes a quiet, sympathetic sound, and nuzzles against him in a way that asks forgiveness.

"You ain't the only one who wants pups," he tells Bucky quietly, and the omega blinks his eyes open, looking up at him curiously. He gets a soft smile, and the alpha bumps their noses together. "We'll talk about it soon, I promise."

That's just as well, because Bucky feels like he's going to fall asleep at any moment. Steve cleans him up and gets out the same lotion he used last time, massages it into Bucky's skin while the omega drifts in and out of unconsciousness, trying to ignore that the alpha's scent is being muted. He's much more tender around Bucky's neck, mindful of where his fingers were pressing.

"You can sleep, little one," Mr. Rogers laughs quietly when Bucky forces his eyes open again. "I'll tell your daddy you got a headache and needed to take a nap. Go on, you look exhausted."

That's all the convincing he needs, despite the fact that he doesn't want to make any more excuses, doesn't want to give his dad any more reason to be suspicious. He falls asleep before he even feels Steve pulling the covers up over him.

...

 

Bucky wakes up when it's dark outside, and his bedside clock reads just past midnight. There's something stuck to the clock face: a sticky note taken from the pad on his desk. After a few groggy moments of sitting up, rubbing his eyes, stretching, and turning on the lamp, his eyes adjust enough to see what's on the note. It's a surprisingly talented sketch of a snoozing puppy, and just looking at it makes Bucky's heart swell in his chest at the unexpected, sweet gesture. Backlit by the lamp, he can see there's writing on the other side, and he flips it over to find the same neat handwriting of the notes Steve left in the binder.

_can't wait to talk about pups_  
_use a cold compress on your neck to keep it from bruising_  
_sleep well_

...

 

"I hate proofs."

"I know you do. Last one, I promise. Then we'll break for lunch."

Bucky groans and his dad gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. His hair is sticking straight up from the number of times he's run his hands through it in frustration, which is all geometry's fault. Sam is a patient man, but nature must have won out over nurture on that one, because it's not a trait Bucky managed to pick up from him. Especially not when it comes to math.

"Just come at it from a different angle," Sam suggests, gesturing to the figure in the workbook. "You're overthinking this one."

"Architects and snipers need angles, Dad. I don't wanna be an architect, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be—"

"What's this on your neck?"

Bucky freezes. After reading Mr. Rogers' note the night before, he was too tired out to get an ice pack for the bruises, and this morning he completely forgot about it. He's not sure how much of a difference it would have made, anyway, but regardless, he's got some pretty colorful splotches on his neck to show for it today. He wore a collared shirt in an attempt to hide some of it, but his dad is sitting right next to him, tugging the collar down so he can get a better look. Bucky flinches away, his face going red while his mind races.

"It's from neck massages," he says, the first thing that comes to mind. His dad meets his gaze evenly, his brow furrowed just slightly, and Bucky gets the distinct feeling he's being scrutinized. "I-I was trying out some neck massages, 'cause my neck was hurting...must've slept on it wrong the other night, or somethin'..."

Sam doesn't look at all convinced, and Bucky can't blame him. The bruises are distinctly finger-shaped, up close. It's not exactly like he can blame school bullies.

Surprisingly, his dad sighs in resignation, breaking their gaze and shaking his head slightly. Bucky thinks for a moment that he's in the clear, but then...

"If you're trying stuff like that, be safe," Sam says, very seriously. "It's more dangerous than you might think, especially doing it alone."

Bucky stares at him blankly for a few seconds before he has the presence of mind to nod his acquiescence.

"And promise you'll only use your hand, nothin' else," his dad continues, and Bucky nods faster.

"Yeah. Promise," he says in a rush, his heart pounding in his ears.

His dad nods gravely, satisfied, and they go back to the lesson. Bucky's hands shake for the next hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me about kinky shit in the comments.
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to Jordyn, the Steef to my Winter Boo Bear.


	5. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning you now, this story is going to get progressively more and more wrong. So feel free to yell at me in the comments, because I deserve it, but don't be surprised by what you read.

Sam keeps a closer eye on him after that. He ends school lessons by saying things like "and you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" and each time Bucky replies with, "Yeah Dad, I know," and guilt twists in his gut.

Every now and then he'll catch his dad looking at his neck, looking for bruises, but they're fading now. He hasn't really wanted to try it again without Mr. Rogers; it doesn't really seem safe, or as much fun, to do it alone. The thrill of it was really the power the alpha had over him, more so than the lack of air.

One night he's laying in bed, still awake because he can't stop worrying about his dad finding out, when his phone buzzes.

_Can I send you a pic?_

It's from Mr. Rogers, and for a moment Bucky's confused, until he realizes there's really only one kind of photo that needs permission before sending.

 _Yes, sir,_ he types back with fumbling fingers, his heart pounding.

A moment later a text comes through, a picture of the alpha stretched out in bed, displaying the taut muscles from his shoulders to his thighs, and he's holding his cock. He's so hard the head is deeply flushed and leaking onto his stomach, and for a long moment all Bucky can do is stare. He's blushing all the way down to his toes, swallowing hard as he looks at the alpha. Steve is looking directly into the camera – Bucky likes that he showed his face, and a lot of it has to do with the five o'clock shadow he's sporting – smiling like he knows exactly the effect he's having on the boy across town. Even if he already knows, Bucky wants to show him. He wants to be on display for the alpha.

 _Can I send you one, sir?_ he types hurriedly. The response makes him smile.

_I always want to see you, puppy._

It takes Bucky a minute. First he turns on a lamp, and shirks off his clothes, and then he doesn't know what position to lay in. He can't hold his cock like Mr. Rogers, or it wouldn't really be visible, most of it able to be covered by his hand. He settles for spreading his legs wide and reaching between them to cup his balls, leaving his pulsing dick to curve up toward his belly. He may not be muscular like the alpha, but he said he wanted to see Bucky.

Once he finds a camera angle he likes, after dropping his phone on his face a couple times, Bucky gives the camera a shy smile, unsure what else to do. Before he can judge himself too hard, he sends it off, heart hammering when the message says "delivered".

Moments pass. Bucky whimpers anxiously, until the bubble indicates the alpha is replying.

_I'll never get tired of looking at you, sweet little thing. You're so flushed you look like you're in heat._

Bucky blushes even deeper at that, tugging the blankets up over his aching cock and turning onto his side.

 _Thank you, sir,_ he types out, and a moment later, _I want to be._

His dad hasn't told him much about what heat is like; he's only just turned fifteen, and heat doesn't come until seventeen or eighteen, so it's not abnormal. All he really knows is that it's overwhelming, and painful to endure alone. But he knows Mr. Rogers would take care of him, if he went into heat.

 _Can't wait for the day that you are,_ Steve says. _But for now I'm enjoying my little pup._

Bucky bites his lip and longs for Mr. Rogers to be there right now, to be able to kiss him and be drawn into his strong arms. He holds the t-shirt with the alpha's scent on it up to his nose and breathes deeply, instantly feeling his thoughts go fuzzy.

 _Can I see your knot please, sir?_ he asks, shy but needy enough that he asks anyway. He's never seen Mr. Rogers' knot before – or anyone's knot, really – only felt it inside him, and thinking about it actually makes his mouth water.

 _You're going to see it in person tomorrow. I've got the day off, I'm coming over while your daddy's at work,_ comes the reply after a moment, and Bucky's eyes widen. Mr. Rogers has never come over while he's home alone before. He...he'll get to make _noise_ when he—

Bucky's hips jerk forward automatically, his tiny cock throbbing. He wants that. He can't think, he wants it so badly, Mr. Rogers fucking him so hard he can't keep quiet.

 _Come over early please,_ he manages to send.

...

 

There's a knock at the door just as Bucky's finishing up eating breakfast, his dad having left for work a half an hour ago. He's been awake for a few hours, though, jittery with excitement, and wearing an outfit he spent most of that time planning (and put on only _after_ his dad left the house). It's a pair of cutoff jean shorts that are technically too small for him, but they make his ass look great, and an old tank-top-turned-crop-top.

It's a slutty outfit. It makes him happy.

His conversation with Steve the night before gave him a confidence boost, for sure. He likes how pretty the alpha makes him feel, and he wants to look pretty for him, as pretty as he can.

Mr. Rogers smiles at him when he answers the door, and then his eyes fall to Bucky's outfit, and he makes a face like a man wounded. He pushes inside the apartment and shuts the door behind him a little loudly, and for a moment Bucky thinks something's wrong, even as the alpha's hands settle reverently on his exposed hips.

"Oh, puppy...I was gonna have you put on something I bought you, but now..." Mr. Rogers' big, rough hands slide up over his belly and chest to his nipples, rubbing them hard and making Bucky gasp. Steve leans in and noses at Bucky's neck, scenting him and nipping his ear. "...I never wanna see you in anything else," he laughs breathlessly, and Bucky manages a whimper in response. He's been hard in his shorts since Mr. Rogers got here, since he heard the knock at the door – it's like a fucking Pavlovian response now, to seeing him – and without underwear on, the zipper presses somewhat painfully against his cock.

"Y-you bought me something?" he asks shakily, forcing his eyes to blink open. His head is tipped back in submission as the alpha nips at him, and Steve holds up a shopping bag made of expensive-looking white paper without stopping what he's doing. Bucky's eyes widen and he squirms slightly with excitement. "Sir, can I see what it is? Can I put it on for you?"

The alpha laughs warmly and kisses his neck, pulling back so they can lock eyes. His hand cups the back of Bucky's head, petting his hair.

"Such an eager little pup, aren't you?" he teases affectionately, nudging their noses together. "I'll show you what it is, but wearing it can wait for another day. Today is for talking, remember?"

Bucky's face falls a little, and he moves closer uncertainly.

"Y'mean...but you're still gonna fuck me, right?" he asks in a small voice.

"No, little one, not today," Steve answers, a look of sympathy taking over his features. Bucky lets out an involuntary, pained whimper, and Mr. Rogers cooes at him and kisses the corner of his lips comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Buck, but you know we got a lot to talk about. I don't want get distracted."

"But my daddy's not home, I thought we were gonna—"

"If I let you sit on my lap while we talk, would that make you feel better?" the alpha asks, genuine. And somehow, that does sound better. That way he can feel the alpha around him the whole time, and be in his strong arms. Bucky nods, but disappointment must still show in his eyes, because Mr. Rogers draws him in a little closer and covers his face with soft kisses. "I'm sorry. I wanna take advantage of your daddy being gone, so we won't be overheard."

In one smooth movement, Mr. Rogers gets a hand behind each of Bucky's thighs and hoists him up so his legs are around the alpha's waist, and his arms automatically loop around Steve's neck. The alpha carries him like that, to the living room where he sits down in the leather armchair, _Sam's_ chair. When Bucky was little, his dad used to carry him like that, when he fell asleep in the car or watching a movie, to tuck him into bed. Even now, in Steve's arms, it makes him feel safe and cared for.

"Now," Mr. Rogers begins once they've settled, smiling up at Bucky who's now straddling his lap. He can feel the warmth and strength of the alpha beneath him, and he squirms in an attempt to get some friction against his still hard cock. There's something erotic about him sitting, scantily dressed, on a grown man's lap, desperate for his touch. "Let me show you your present," Steve murmurs, and reaches into the fancy bag he set on the ground, pulling out a soft lump of something wrapped in delicate tissue paper.

It's a few different somethings, as it turns out. Mr. Rogers carefully unwraps three pairs of panties, all clearly made for a boy his size. It makes him blush as they fall softly onto his lap, but he looks at them with silent fascination, picking them each up delicately, one by one. There's a white pair made of lace and silk that feels like water on his fingertips, it's so thin and smooth. Imagining the cool fabric against his hot, aching cock makes him shiver. The dark blue pair is made of a sheer, barely-there fabric, and the light pink – the color makes him blush a little more – is entirely lace, unable to hide anything.

"You don't have to wear any of this, if you don't want to." The alpha's voice is as soft as the fabric, and he kisses Bucky's forehead tenderly while the omega looks down at the lingerie. There's more still in the package, and Mr. Rogers pulls out what Bucky first thinks are more panties but, no, they have too many straps—

Bralettes, three of them, each matching one of the panties. Bucky's heart rate picks up and he's not sure if it's excitement or uncertainty, but he reminds himself of the alpha's words. No one will be upset with him if he doesn't want to wear these.

It's not that he doesn't want to. It's that...they hit a little close to home. He used to imagine, a few times, when he was picturing his daddy— but no, he hasn't thought about that in a long time. Mr. Rogers might not give these to him, if he knew the things Bucky used to think about.

"Still okay?" Steve asks gently, his voice dragging the omega out of his thoughts. Bucky looks up at him for the first time since he started unwrapping the lingerie, and gives him a shy smile.

"Yes, sir," he says, and Steve grins.

"Good. 'Cause there's one more I got for you, puppy..."

The last thing in the tissue is a silk slip. Pale pink, with lace lining the top, and a frilled hem that looks like it would barely fall low enough to cover Bucky's small cock. He feels a heated throbbing between his legs, a sudden wetness that soaks his shorts. Steve laughs softly, obviously able to smell his arousal.

"Good boy," he praises in a rumbling whisper, leaning in to kiss the spot just below Bucky's ear. It sends shivers down his spine and he melts at the praise. Good. He's good. The nightie is good. He'll be a good boy, a good boy who likes pretty nighties...

Bucky blinks and slowly comes out of his daze when the alpha pulls back. He still doesn't entirely understand the things Mr. Rogers does to him, but when he looks at the slip again, laying innocently over the arm of the chair, a warm shiver courses through him.

"Thank you for my presents, sir," he murmurs, smiling and nuzzling affectionately against Steve's cheek. On instinct, his hips roll against the alpha's lap, desperate for friction, and strong hands still them.

"You're welcome little one," Steve hums, and starts dropping the lingerie back into the bag on the floor, out of their way. "Now," he meets Bucky's eyes, "we need to talk about pups."

A brief, very strong feeling of _want_ wrecks Bucky's body, and he whimpers needily, making Steve laugh.

"I know, I know," he says with empathy, his eyebrows drawn together. There's a broad hand rubbing up and down his back, soothing him. "But you're practically a pup yourself, I can't just— hey, that's not what's stopping me," he says quickly, when Bucky opens his mouth indignantly, ready to defend himself. The words stop him, surprised.

"It's your daddy," Steve explains, voice gentle with a rather sad smile on his face. "You wanna keep our secret a little longer, don't you? You'll start smelling like a bred omega long before you start showing. So until you're okay with your daddy knowing you're with pups, I can't breed you."

Bucky stares, stunned, at Mr. Rogers for a long moment. He was expecting some spiel about how Bucky's too young, how he's not even sure he wants to be Bucky's mate yet because they've only just started this. But by the sound of it, Mr. Rogers has already made up his mind.

Mr. Roger's hand brushes up and down his back while Bucky processes, and after a minute he gently prompts, "Does that sound good to you, puppy?" Bucky meets Steve's gaze again and nods.

"Jus' really want pups," he mutters, examining the fabric of Steve's shirt between his fingertips. "Never really thought about 'em before, but now...can't really _stop_ thinkin' about 'em." He laughs at himself a little.

"That's because you're doing all this new stuff with me, it's making your hormones go a little crazy," Mr. Rogers laughs, tickling his side lightly until Bucky smiles and giggles. "It's normal for you to want pups badly," he assures the omega. "And believe me, little one, I want them too...you got no idea how hard it is not to press you up against a wall and breed you, whenever I see your sweet face..." His voice is a quiet, desperate moan, his face earnest, and it makes Bucky's heart beat faster. Mr. Rogers really does want this, with him.

"I'll be real good for you," Bucky says shyly, shuffling a little closer to Steve on his lap, draping his arms around the alpha's neck. "I'll have nice big litters, honest...I'll be real good, sir..."

Mr. Rogers lets out a desperate sound between a growl and a whine, and it's _so close_ to making Bucky come that he squeezes his eyes shut and his hips jerk forward, making contact with nothing. Mr. Rogers' grip remains strong on his waist, holding him up off his lap so he can't get any pressure against his ass.

"The things you do to me," the alpha moans, shaking his head like _he's_ the one suffering. "One day, puppy, I promise. You got my word, someday soon. The younger you are, the more fertile you'll be. Easier to have big litters."

"Even before I get my first heat?" Bucky asks curiously, a little breathless with need.

"There are ways to induce heat." The way the alpha answers makes Bucky think there's a lot more to that conversation, but at that moment, Mr. Rogers' hands on his hips lower him down to sit on his lap again, and that's when the omega feels his arousal. Crying out at the bulging pressure against his ass, shorts nearly soaked through with slick, Bucky grinds his ass down hard against Steve's cock through their pants.

"Not so fast, puppy," Mr. Rogers laughs, pushing him back a little so he's sitting on the alpha's thighs instead of his cock. It makes him whine and the alpha kisses his pouting lips. "Take my cock out of my pants," he whispers against Bucky's cheek, and the omega starts obeying before he even realizes.

He's never held Mr. Rogers' cock in his hands before, and the warmth, weight, and _size_ of it simply shocks him. He finds himself staring, cradling it in both hands while the head weeps precum over his fingers.

"Bucky, sweet boy," says Steve's soft voice, "you're drooling."

He has half a mind to wipe his chin on his arm, and the decency to blush, but Mr. Rogers is smiling. A big hand starts petting his hair and Bucky melts into the touch, hands still reverently on the alpha's cock.

"Make me come," is the gentle order Mr. Rogers gives him, and again, Bucky obeys thoughtlessly. Stroking with both hands up and down the thick shaft, the only sounds in the room are their breathing, Bucky's heart pounding in his ears, and the slick noise of his hands on the man's cock. Mr. Rogers watches Bucky's face and pets his hair the entire time, his gaze intense, and the omega blushes all the way down to his navel.

As time passes, the alpha tells him things like "good boy," or "a little faster," or "squeeze a little harder, puppy." It makes Bucky absolutely lose himself in a daze where he doesn't know how long it's been; he knows he's being good, he's making the alpha feel good, he knows exactly what to do because Mr. Rogers will always tell him, and making Mr. Rogers happy feels _so good_...

By the time the alpha comes in spurts over his hand, Bucky's heart rate has slowed, his eyelids drooped, caught in a hazy loop of receiving pleasure from giving pleasure. Mr. Rogers' cum seems endless, making a mess of Bucky's shirt. He whimpers pathetically, desperate for it inside him.

"Hold my knot, Buck," Steve instructs, breathless, and it snaps Bucky out of his reverie. "Feels good to have pressure on it..."

Bucky is wrapping his hands around Mr. Rogers' knot before he fully comprehends the order, and once he does, it makes his eyes go wide. The knot always feels big inside him, but really _seeing_ it nearly makes him sob. It's massive and flushed and Bucky _needs_ it, he needs it in him _now_.

A finger hooked under his chin brings his gaze back up to Steve's face. The alpha's head is tipped back against the back of the armchair, his Adam's apple bobbing and lips parted as he watches the omega from beneath long eyelashes.

"Harder. Squeeze harder, like when you clench up around me," Steve whispers, almost a plea, and Bucky obeys. The pleasure washes over the alpha's face, his eyes closing and eyebrows pinching while he lets out a low moan.

He looks beautiful. Bucky watches him in awe.

"Such a good boy," Mr. Rogers breathes when Bucky finally removes his hands, the alpha's knot having gone down. Big hands start working at Bucky's zipper, pushing the tight shorts down over his ass and freeing his aching cock. "I bet I know what you want, huh?" the alpha croons, smiling at him. Bucky lets out an involuntary whine, and Steve laughs.

Mr. Rogers pulls him forward until his hips are flush with the alpha's firm abs, cock trapped between them. Bucky's first instinct is to rut his hips against the hard surface, and he's delighted when Mr. Rogers doesn't stop him. In fact the alpha grabs his ass in both hands and squeezes just on the right side of too hard, spreading him and making him feel exposed while he rolls his hips and lets out breathless cries.

It isn't long before rolling his hips becomes humping shamelessly against the alpha's abs, making desperate noises that shock even him while he clings to Steve's broad shoulders. It feels amazing, the relief after so long, just being able to let go and be horny and needy because he knows Mr. Rogers won't judge him for it. He's a good boy. The alpha said so.

There are tears running down his face by the time he comes, face buried in Steve's neck to breathe in his scent. The alpha kisses his ear and rubs his back while he trembles with relief.

"You're going to wear the pretty things I bought you," Mr. Rogers whispers while Bucky is still mostly out of it. "And you're going to send me pictures of you in them, puppy."

The order sears itself onto Bucky's heart, unquestionable, and he nods slowly.

"Yes, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, REALLY love when you guys leave reviews, seriously. It makes my whole week, especially when you tell me your favorite part of the chapter, so thank you to everyone who has been leaving me reviews, you're awesome.
> 
> This chapter would have been published a lot later if not for Jordyn <3


	6. Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO FUCKIN LONG but it's massive so hopefully that makes up for it. Like a good orgasm.

As fun as it was to fool around in his daddy's chair, the cleanup process is extensive. They not only have to get the smell of sex off the chair and Bucky, but they have to make it seem like Mr. Rogers was never there at all. Luckily Steve seems to think of almost everything, getting rid of every bit of evidence – he's much better at this than Bucky is, like he's planned it all out beforehand. And Steve does most of the work, while Bucky just tries to stay standing as the usual lotion is rubbed into is skin, disoriented.

"Take these to your room, keep them someplace secret," the alpha instructs, handing Bucky the bag of lingerie. He takes it automatically, looking up at Mr. Rogers with a dazed expression. "And don't forget to change into something a little more decent," Steve teases, kissing his temple lightly. When he pulls back, he watches the omega for a long moment, smiling. "I don't work Mondays. I'm gonna come over every week."

The alpha moves away and Bucky laments that they can't hug goodbye, only touching scarcely when Mr. Rogers hooks his fingers beneath Bucky's chin, guiding his gaze.

"Be a good boy until I see you again," he says, voice stern, but he's still smiling. Bucky smiles back and nods.

...

 

He keeps the lingerie in the bottom drawer of his dresser, beneath his folded pajamas. As he carefully lays them out, he hesitates at the bralettes, going a little red when he thinks about wearing them. He isn't ready for that, not yet. But as soon as he feels the silk of the babydoll nightgown, he feels warm and sleepy and _good..._

Bucky's not sure what gives him the sudden inspiration to send Mr. Rogers photos, but it makes sense to show him he's enjoying his gift. He just can't remember if the alpha told him to or not.

_It doesn't matter if he told you to,_ says an airy voice in the back of his mind. _It'll make him happy. It'll make Alpha happy, and making Alpha happy feels so good, be a good boy, be a good boy and make Alpha happy..._

He's started undressing without even realizing it. By the time he comes back to the present, he's pushing his shorts down over his ass, shrugging off his shirt as if completely on instinct. And the nightgown feels so incredibly soft in his hand, delicate fabric like none of the other clothes he owns. When he slips it on over his head, the cool silk makes him shiver, the way it settles against his skin so lightly it's almost not there.

His eyes are squeezed shut, he realizes after a few moments of wearing it. It feels bizarre, not wearing pants or even underwear beneath this wispy thing, but in a good way. He imagines Mr. Rogers there looking at him, touching him with none-too-gentle hands both over and under the fabric. He imagines his daddy walking in, seeing his son dressed like a sweet little slut...

His tiny cock pokes against the hem of the nightgown, lined with lace that he can feel against the sensitive skin, and that's when he finally opens his eyes and looks down at himself. The thing fits him so perfectly it might have been tailored to; the place where breasts should be isn't designed to be filled out, laying perfectly flat against his chest. Yet the cut of the neckline is feminine enough that it could be made for a little girl, someone who hasn't quite grown into breasts yet. The skirt of the nightgown is practically transparent, clinging to his waist to give the appearance of hips and flaring out into a girlish trim that barely covers his crotch, all in one smooth swath of silk.

Bucky feels pretty. His skin is flushed darker than the pale pink of the fabric, but he turns and admires himself in the mirror above his dresser, sees the way the dress dips in the back to expose much of his spine, the way he can just barely see the seat of his ass below the short skirt. He could wear the matching panties with this, but he likes it better without.

Mr. Rogers called him a good boy for liking the babydoll nightie. It makes heat stir between his legs when he thinks about it, his thoughts going fuzzy. He's a good boy. He'll like anything if it means he's a good boy for Alpha. He wants to be good, it feels so _nice_ to be a good boy.

He sends Mr. Rogers a picture of him laying out on his bed in the nighty, smiling sleepily at the camera. All he can think about is the alpha and his daddy being there, each of them telling him what a pretty little boy he is...what a pretty little girl he is...touching him all over, rucking up his skirt and spreading his legs wide...

His thoughts grow slow and disoriented, and he doesn't get up off the bed, doesn't even set down his phone. He feels too warm and heavy. He's a good boy.

...

 

Hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolts Bucky awake. There's a moment of panic where he doesn't know what's going on, but it's just his dad, coming home from work. His phone tells him it's a little after five, there are a few affectionate texts from Mr. Rogers, and he's still wearing the nighty.

"Bucky?" Sam's voice calls through the house, and Bucky can hear the shuffling of shoes being kicked off, keys being set down.

"Hey Dad," he responds, voice a little groggy from his impromptu nap, and sits up too quickly. It makes his head spin.

"C'mere, I haven't seen you all day!"

"Be out in a second!" Bucky says hurriedly, his voice cracking with nerves. He stumbles out of the nightgown and into more appropriate clothes, leaving the heap of silk on the floor only for a moment before he changes his mind and folds it, stowing it with the rest of the things beneath his pajamas.

"Hey, how was work?" he asks when he sees his dad a few moments later, trying to seem as casual as possible. Sam is standing at the fridge, drinking milk straight from the carton like he always does when he first gets home after a long day. Bucky tried it once and wound up spilling it down his front.

"Pretty lighthearted today, actually." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sam puts the milk away and shuts the fridge, turning to his son only to quirk an eyebrow at him. "Please tell me you were only napping, and you haven't been asleep since last night."

Shit, his hair must look a mess. Bucky quickly raises his hands to try to form it into something more presentable, which only makes his dad laugh.

"You got sleep-lines all over your face too, kiddo," he tells him, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms, amused.

"I swear I was only asleep the last half an hour," Bucky says sheepishly, but it's a lie. He's been out at least three hours; he hates it, how easy it's become to lie to his dad. How _routine_ it's become.

"Sure you were," Sam teases. For a long moment, he seems to consider Bucky, who shuffles uncertainly under his gaze. Suddenly he straightens up and heads for the living room, motioning for Bucky to follow. "C'mon. I wanna talk to you about something."

Instantly Bucky's blood runs cold. Only two conversations with his dad have started that way, that he can recall: the first was the news that they were moving from Washington DC to Brooklyn, and the second was The Talk. Neither were pleasant experiences for Bucky. He follows his dad on shaky legs out to the living room, all the while thinking _he knows he knows he knows fuck how could I be so stupid of course he found out..._

Sam sits in his usual chair. The one on which, not five hours ago, Bucky was rubbing himself off against an alpha more than twice his age, begging for it like a horny pup. His whole face goes red and he sits gingerly on the couch perpendicular to the chair.

"What's up, Dad?" He never says "what's up". Why the hell did he say that?

Sam assumes the Serious Position, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. Bucky has the sudden, bizarre urge to sit on his lap like he sat on Mr. Rogers' this morning – maybe that would comfort him a little for this ordeal.

The very first time Bucky ever got a hard-on was when he was sitting on his dad's lap, when he was ten years old. Back then, he thought he was too old for sitting on laps, though he later found out that clinginess was common in children adopted at a young age. He can't remember what they were talking about, he just remembers thinking how nice it felt, how warm and strong his daddy was. And then a funny feeling between his legs.

After that he didn't sit on Sam's lap anymore, fearing that if it happened again, his dad would notice next time. But he wishes, now, that he'd taken advantage of the time when he could still get away with that kind of behavior.

"Bucky," Sam begins, raising his folded hands so his lips are almost touching his knuckles. He seems to think through his words carefully before he says them. "You know we always tell each other everything, right?"

Goddamnit. He really does know. Bucky's certain of it now. His blood runs cold and his mind races, wondering what his punishment will be...he won't get to see Mr. Rogers again, that's for sure, and just the thought of it is enough to make a lump form in his throat. It's stupid, he hardly knows the guy, but Steve makes him feel _so good_ and cherished and wanted and shameless. Bucky can't lose that, can't lose _him_.

He swallows hard, and nods. Sam nods gravely back.

"Right. And ever since you were a little toddler, tryin' to tell me you weren't sad that your toy broke, even though your little lip was wobbling, you haven't been the best at hiding how you feel. You know that, right?" Sam speaks slowly, calmly, like he does when he's counseling someone, and it doesn't exactly make Bucky feel threatened, but it does give him the impression that there's absolutely nowhere to hide.

"I know, Dad," he answers in a small voice, trying in vain to keep it emotionless. No matter what, he's unable to look away from his dad's dark eyes.

Sam's hands lower from his face, his expression no-nonsense.

"I know you really like Mr. Rogers. I know you must be feelin' a lotta confusing things, after being close to an alpha for the first time, and I just wanted you to know that's perfectly normal."

Bucky stares at his dad for a long moment, uncomprehending. Sam doesn't seem mad, not even in that "I'm mad but pretending not to be" way that parents have. And Bucky keeps waiting for him to go on, to get to the part where he's very disappointed in Bucky and he's not sure where he went wrong in raising him, but it doesn't come.

"Okay," Bucky says slowly, voice shaking just a little. He plays with his fingers in his lap, refusing the urge to look down. "D'you not want him to come over anymore?" he asks fearfully, and Sam shakes his head.

"No, I think it's important that you get accustomed to stuff like this. 'Cause there'll be other alphas, kiddo, and it's good for you to learn how to get used to being around 'em," he says gently, letting out a sigh. "Most of that's my fault – keeping you away from alphas, I always knew you'd...be more susceptible, when you were really exposed to them."

That throws Bucky a little. It makes sense now, why it makes him go absolutely stupid when he gets a whiff of Mr. Rogers' scent, how other omegas can function around alphas in everyday life – but more than that, his dad _knew_ this could happen. He was aware that letting Bucky be close to an alpha might result in him falling in puppy-love instantly; it makes him a little mad, that Sam wouldn't share this with him to begin with, but it's also a relief to know that this whole thing isn't entirely his fault. It's biological.

"I chose Steve on purpose, to be the first alpha you were really close to," Sam continues. "Because I trust him not to try anything, not to encourage any...any urges you might have, and to be nothin' but kind to you."

Bucky goes a little red, not just because this is a subject he definitely does _not_ want to discuss with his dad, but because all he can think about right now is Steve pinning him to the bathroom wall that first night they met. Surely that wasn't what Sam had in mind. It makes Bucky look down at his fiddling hands, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

"Bucky, hey," Sam coaxes softly, his head ducking to try to regain eye contact, but Bucky keeps his eyes down, the knot in his throat getting tighter and his eyes feeling hot. "I'm not mad, 'kay? There's nothin' wrong with you, for wanting to be with an alpha. I don't want you to think that. I just want you to be careful, and know how to control those urges, it's all a part of growin' up."

Bucky nods and swallows hard. One day his dad is gonna know everything, it's unavoidable. One day Bucky will be swollen with pups – he wants that, more than anything he wants that – and he'll have to tell Sam how long he and Steve have been...involved. No matter when it happens. He'll have to tell his dad he's been lying to him the entire time.

"It's just a matter of knowing when it's okay, y'know?" Sam reaches over to rub Bucky's shoulder while he talks, and the omega leans into the welcome touch. "Steve is older than you by quite a bit, kiddo, and he's got a mate already."

_He's got a mate already._

In an instant Bucky's thoughts go silent, and he stops breathing, just long enough to feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. Where he was blushing before, he feels himself go pale, eyes wide and expression fixed.

"I didn't...I didn't smell anyone on him," Bucky mumbles, his mouth seeming to speak on its own.

"She's a beta. And it wouldn't exactly be a surprise, if all you could smell was alpha. You're not attuned to the scent yet."

Sam's gentle voice washes right over him, Bucky barely hearing it. Obviously his dad can tell he's hurt, and he's trying to be honest and break the news to him gently at the same time, but in the end it doesn't matter because Sam doesn't know. He doesn't know what's going on in Bucky's head, the hurt he's feeling...he'll probably assume this is teenage hormones making him overreact to finding out his crush has a girlfriend.

No, not just a girlfriend. Steve has a mate. Bucky's having trouble breathing again.

The worst part is he totally should have seen this coming; not once did Steve say Bucky was the only one he did this with. Oh god, the things Bucky's said to him, he called him _sir_...he's probably done this before, with other young omegas, other sweet little things who looked at him with stars in their eyes and begged to be fucked. And not only does it make Bucky's heart absolutely shatter at being lied to, but he doesn't want to associate with someone who cheats on their mate. That's a sacred thing.

He's feeling so many awful things, but overall it's _hurt,_ and confusion. Was it the scent that clouded his judgement, or is he really just that stupid? Or maybe Mr. Rogers is just that good at lying. But...no, Bucky doesn't want to believe it, doesn't want to accept the alpha would lie to him. Steve seems so genuine in everything he says, always touches Bucky in just the right way, just as rough or as gentle as he wants it.

Maybe he's had a lot of practice, making omegas see only what they want to believe.

Bucky's been quietly staring at his knees for far too long, but he's grateful to his dad for not saying anything else, patiently waiting. Gathering his wits, Bucky clears his throat quietly, forcing a smile on his face when he looks up to meet his eyes again.

"I'm bein' silly, huh?" he laughs quietly at himself, his voice a little unsteady. "Dumb little thing to get upset over."

His dad's warm eyes search him for a moment, and then Sam's moving from the armchair to the space on the couch beside Bucky, and bringing him in for a hug. Bucky goes easily, laying his head on his dad's shoulder and aching all over with how much he needs this right now. Sam rubs his back and says nothing, and it's so hard not to break down and tell him everything, but he doesn't. He's had his fill of drama for one goddamn day.

After sitting quietly for a while, Bucky makes up some bullshit excuse to go to his room and be alone. He doesn't really want to be, but if he stays in the same room as Sam, he's going to spill everything that's happened, and the worst part is, he really wants to be with Mr. Rogers. That's something alphas are supposed to do, ground and comfort their mates when they're upset, act as their support, and Bucky sure as hell needs that right now. There's even a text from him, waiting on Bucky's phone when he returns to his room, checking to see if he's alright because Bucky still hasn't replied to the last few.

_No, I'm not,_ Bucky thinks morosely, tossing his phone to one end of his mattress so he can sit and mope on the other. _And it's your fuckin' fault._

God, why does he still feel guilty thinking things like that? He wants the alpha's strong arms around him, his deep voice in his ear, his scent all around him...

His eyes land on the bottom drawer of his dresser, where all his lovely new things are. He really shouldn't put them on again, not after what he's learned, but...it felt so nice to wear the nightgown, to feel pretty and good. Not giving himself a chance to change his mind, he pushes off the bed and a minute later he's wearing the silky thing again. He doesn't look in the mirror this time, afraid of how splotchy his face might look, but it does make him feel a little better. He's a good boy.

Sitting on the bed, silk and lace pooling around him, Bucky finally lets himself cry. Silently, but it wracks his entire frame, and he covers his face with his hands. It was all going so well, and this just...this just spoils fucking everything. He really, _really_ wants Mr. Rogers to be a good person. And he doesn't want to contribute to or be any part of Mr. Rogers cheating on his mate, no matter how good it feels to be wanted by him.

Bucky curls up on his side, the silk slip making his sheets feel smooth beneath him, and sniffles pathetically. He should have seen this coming, but he...he's _not_ stupid. He's a good boy. He'll get through this.

...

 

Over the next few days, Bucky slowly gets less and less anxious about what he's learned. He sure as hell doesn't let his hurt show in front of his dad anymore – he still cringes whenever he remembers how much he let it show before. The uncertainty that made him panic before is actually comforting him a little now; he still doesn't know the details, and he hasn't talked to Mr. Rogers about it. Maybe him and his mate have some kind of arrangement, an open relationship. It's unlikely, but it's all Bucky has to go on at the moment, and it's still almost impossible to convince himself that Steve could be tricking him.

He's going to confront the alpha about it the next time he sees him, that's for sure. He won't be a part of this if it's going behind his mate's back. Mr. Rogers keeps texting him, but Bucky tells him he's not feeling well, which isn't exactly a lie.

_Do you still want me to come over on Monday?_ Steve texts him Saturday night, while he's watching a movie with Sam. Bucky ignores it at first, silencing his phone. A minute later it buzzes quietly with another message:

_We don't have to have sex, just so you know. I don't want you thinking I expect sex from you. If you're sick, I want to be there to take care of my puppy. If it's alright with you._

Bucky's breath hitches slightly in quiet surprise, and he stares at his phone screen. It's just...not what he expected. Maybe it would have been, but these past few days, his idea of Mr. Rogers has changed a bit. He's not even really sick, but the idea of Mr. Rogers tenderly taking care of him is already making him melt a little inside.

But – no, he has to stay focused on what he's going to say to him, how he's going to broach the subject when he sees him. Monday will be good, enough time to plan things out carefully, and not so much time that he starts getting anxious about it and loses his nerve.

_Yeah, come over Monday,_ he replies, his heart beating a little faster.

_I'll see you then. Take extra good care of yourself, sweet boy. Get lots of rest._

There's a heart emoji too. A blue one, Bucky's favorite color, he once mentioned offhand over text. For some reason it comforts him more than it should, like...like he actually does mean something to Mr. Rogers, enough for him to pay attention to that small detail. Like he's not just one of many omegas the alpha has used to get some kind of fix before going home to his mate.

That's really the worst case scenario, Bucky reminds himself. He can't assume there's more to this than there is. Even if Mr. Rogers is cheating on someone, maybe Bucky's the only one he's done it with. At least that option doesn't make Bucky feel entirely insignificant, though it's probably pretty unlikely. Why would _he_ be the one person who'd tempt Steve to go against a mating bond?

He doesn't wear anymore of the pretty lingerie Steve got him, as much as he wants to. It just sits in his bottom drawer fuckin' mocking him.

...

 

Monday's here, and Sam's gone. Unlike last week, Bucky doesn't dress himself up nice – he's supposed to have been sick, after all, so he goes with pajama pants and a sweater, as un-sexy as it feels. He doesn't need the distraction, anyway. Mr. Rogers arrives right on time, knocking on the door, and Bucky _almost_ decides to make him wait a minute, like that'll give him the upper hand somehow, but in the end he's too eager. Whether he's eager just to see the alpha again or eager to work all this out, he doesn't know.

He's got this whole speech planned, very calm and adult-like. About how he needs to know about his situation at home, that he doesn't deserve to be lied to, that he wouldn't have gotten involved with him if he knew he had a mate. Honestly his biggest fear is that he'll break down crying in the middle of it, but mostly he just hopes that there's an explanation for all this. That somehow it'll all be okay.

And yes, he does see the irony, that he's getting so upset because cheating is morally wrong, while he's fine with getting fucked by someone more than twice his age.

Mr. Rogers is, of course, oblivious to all the distress he's in, and when Bucky opens the door he's standing there with his brow furrowed in sympathy and a small smile on his face.

"Hey, how's my puppy feeling?" he murmurs, stepping in the door and lifting his hand to pet Bucky's hair. "You look like you're feeling better."

_Oh._ Right.

One thing Bucky didn't count on, when making his grand scheme, was the fact that no matter what, the alpha makes him feel good. Makes him feel like everything is right with the world. The instant he's touched and he breathes in Mr. Rogers' scent, he fucking melts, a slow smile spreading across his face while he leans into the touch.

It's probably fine, this whole mate thing...surely it's a misunderstanding...he can worry about it later. Much, much later. Mr. Rogers would never hurt him, not ever; Bucky knows this with stone cold certainty, and suddenly it seems so silly, that he was worried about the alpha being unfaithful to his mate. He'd never do something like that.

"Yeah, 'm a lot better, sir," Bucky breathes, stepping in close and looking up at the alpha. "I'm feelin' well enough to play. Can we, please?"

Mr. Rogers laughs softly and kisses Bucky's forehead, the omega's eyes fluttering shut.

"You're sure?" he asks gently, careful but looking excited at the prospect. His big hand is cupping Bucky's jaw and he feels so warm and strong, he doesn't know how the hell he went a week without this. "I don't want you to push yourself. We can do something on the tamer side today, if you're still feeling worn out—"

"No, c'mon, I _missed_ you," Bucky whimpers, his hands gripping the front of Steve's jacket to keep him close. "I wanna do something new. Please?"

He meant to stay cool and mature this visit, he really did, but Mr. Rogers just makes him feel so safe and comfortable that all his walls go down. He can be a needy little pup, and the alpha won't judge him for it, he'll treat him the way he wants to be treated when he's like this. And he's making Steve happy by being like this, he can tell. He looks happily torn between tending to the omega (one thing alphas do best) and fucking him senseless (another thing alphas do best).

"Well, if you think you're up for it..."

"I _know_ I am."

"Okay, hey, I believe you," Mr. Rogers laughs, shrugging his computer bag off his shoulder to wrap his arms around Bucky properly. Sparing a curious glance at the leather bag, Bucky sinks into his embrace, breathing deeply and letting Steve's scent make him dizzy. "We'll do something extra fun today, since you haven't had a fun week, how 'bout that?"

Bucky nods against his chest, smiling, and he swears he hears Steve's heart skip.

"Alright, sweet boy, go into your room and take your clothes off for me," Mr. Rogers whispers hotly right in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. His voice still holds the same command over him even when spoken so softly; Bucky moves to obey without a thought.

Mr. Rogers follows close behind him, and once Bucky starts walking he realizes he's already half-hard and getting slick in his underwear, stumbling slightly, highly aware of the alpha's presence so close to him. Safely shut in his bedroom, he starts urgently tugging his sweater off, before a firm voice interrupts his progress.

"Slowly," Steve says, a playful reprimand. Bucky pulls the sweater back down enough to see the alpha's smirk, and that Steve's brought his computer bag into the bedroom, which seems odd. But he follows instruction, slowly lifting the fabric over his head, the t-shirt underneath hiking up to expose some of his midriff.

By the time the sweater falls to the floor, Mr. Rogers has settled on Bucky's bed, sitting sideways on it so he can lean back against the wall with his feet hanging off the edge. He watches Bucky with intense eyes while the omega pulls off his undershirt with the same deliberate slowness, Steve's eyes following every inch of skin as it's revealed, and his hand works its way into his pants to pull out his large cock.

"That's a good boy," he says in a low voice, languidly stroking himself while Bucky watches, transfixed. "Keep going," he prompts gently. "And when you're undressed, put on that sweet little thing I got you."

Bucky blushes because he knows exactly which one he means. He finally gets his shirt off, feeling very much on display and blushing all the way down to his navel, very much hard now and tenting his pajama pants. His heart pounding with anticipation, he forces himself to slowly drag the pants down his hips, over his ass, before he lets them fall. There's a wet spot in the front of his briefs, his little cock straining against the fabric, and he thinks he hears Mr. Rogers moan softly.

"Excited puppy, aren't you?" he croons, and Bucky can see his cock leaking over his knuckles, which makes his mouth water. All he can do is nod and get his thoughts back on track, gradually tugging down his underwear so his cock springs free. Steve's eyes follow every movement, hungry, and for a moment all Bucky does is stand still like he's pinned under his gaze before he remembers he's supposed to do something else.

The nightgown is right where he left it, neatly folded in his bottom drawer. It slips through his fingers like water when he touches it – god, he missed this. He planned on not wearing it again until things with Steve were sorted out, if they were sorted out, but he's so excited to be in it once more. When he straightens up with it he makes eye contact with Mr. Rogers, holding the soft bundle gingerly in his hands, and smiles shyly under the alpha's gaze.

"I really like it," he admits in a small voice, and slips it over his head, silk cascading down his body to settle just above the seat of his ass, just barely covering his bobbing cock. Mr. Rogers makes a soft "mmmm" sound.

"Look at you, so pretty for me," he murmurs, his voice so low and rough it's almost a growl. It makes Bucky feel owned, makes him want to be kept by this man.

Fuck, he wants him all to himself. He wants that so badly it hurts.

Tears prickle his eyes and he stubbornly blinks them away, keeping the little smile fixed on his face. He's going to enjoy this, damnit.

Mr. Rogers takes his hand off his cock to shrug off his jacket and then the t-shirt underneath, leaving his jeans on and his muscled chest exposed, but he doesn't go back to stroking himself. Instead he reaches over the side of the bed to retrieve his bag, Bucky watching curiously, and pulls out his laptop.

"You said you wanted to try something new, right?" Mr. Rogers asks, and he nods, wondering if the alpha is going to look up things they can do. But he only clicks a couple of things before he reaches over to set the computer on Bucky's bedside table. The screen is angled out towards them, displaying a mirrored image of Bucky's bed and a record button.

Bucky's eyes go wide, and he looks to the alpha.

"Obviously we don't have to if you don't want to. It's just an idea," Steve soothes immediately, smiling. "And if you decide to do it and then want me to delete the video, I will. I promise I won't keep it if it makes you uncomfortable."

Bucky's got slick dripping down his thighs, so dizzy with want that he sways slightly on the spot. He nods automatically, lips parted and mind blank.

"Want to," he manages, swallowing hard and shifting a little on his feet when more slick slips from his hole. Steve's smile broadens.

"Good. I want something to watch when I miss you. And you look so damn pretty, it'd be a downright shame not to document it..."

Bucky looks down at himself and blushes just thinking about there being physical evidence to the fact that he's wearing this. Doing these things. On one hand it'll make it seem more real, somehow, like this isn't just some fever dream he's having but an actual thing. But it doesn't mean he isn't just a little shy about it. Mr. Rogers will make it okay.

Before he can change his mind, Bucky hits "record" on the computer, after taking a brief moment to check his hair in the screen's display. No turning back now. He gets a kind of thrill, almost like they have a voyeur in the room with them, when he crawls onto the bed to sit on the alpha's lap. He pointedly does _not_ look at the camera to his left.

There's such a contrast between them, Steve in thick denim and Bucky in gossamer silk, Steve's firm muscle and Bucky's soft skin. It gives the alpha all that much more control, their eyes level even though Bucky's raised up on his lap, and Mr. Rogers' big hands run slowly up his exposed thighs. The alpha lets out a long, quiet sigh, something like adoration or contentment in his eyes when he looks at Bucky, and it's almost too much for the omega to handle. His eyes drop to Mr. Rogers' chest, where a pair of dog tags rest on a chain, just above his heart. Bucky touches them briefly, the metal warm against his fingertips.

The alpha's hands don't push up under his skirt like Bucky wants them too, instead skating over the smooth fabric to rest on his waist. It keeps Bucky still, which is irritating because Steve's cock is _right there,_ hot and hard and leaking and exactly what Bucky needs. Letting out a frustrated whimper and struggling slightly, Steve chuckles and tightens his hold, sending a flash of pleasure through the omega when he feels his strength.

"Can I have a kiss?" Mr. Rogers whispers inches from Bucky's lips, playing innocent like he's not making the teenager feel so needy he might cry.

But of course he kisses him anyway, and it's gentler than any of their kisses he can remember. Trying to tease him further, no doubt, but it's also just really tender and sweet. Bucky feels tension melt from him and he almost completely forgets there's a camera trained on them, his eyes drifting shut. It's not rushed or insistent, it's just a warm connection between them.

"Do you want my cock?" Mr. Rogers breathes oh so quietly against his lips, not breaking the kiss.

"Yes sir," Bucky whispers shakily. But they just keep kissing, the alpha's hands still firm on his waist.

"You want Alpha's big cock inside you?" Mr. Rogers says a moment later, and Bucky can't help nodding a little.

"Y-yes sir." His whole body trembles slightly with how bad he needs it, hot _want_ coiling within him, and his kisses get a little more frantic, but Steve's measured movements slow him back down again.

"You wanna get fucked so bad, don't you puppy?" The alpha's hot breath washes over his lips, and Bucky lets out a desperate whine, his hips trying to jerk forward but unable to move at all in Steve's grip.

"Yes, _yes_ sir, please," he whimpers, their voices never above a whisper. With his legs spread like this, he's dripping slick directly onto Mr. Rogers' jeans, making a mess of them, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. Bucky keeps kissing back and making small, needy sounds, shaking and feeling his eyes prickle with tears the longer he's kept waiting like this.

"You know there's something you gotta do first," Mr. Rogers murmurs, and Bucky pulls back from the kiss to blink at him, confused. At the moment, he doesn't know much of anything except how bad he needs to be filled with pups and how good Alpha smells. One fat tear rolls down his cheek and the alpha tenderly brushes it away. "Condoms are in my right pocket. Help me get one on," he instructs gently, and Bucky's heart sinks a little.

Still determined to enjoy this at all costs – and, really, it's almost impossible not to – he obeys quickly, tearing open the wrapper and following Steve's guiding hands that show him how to properly do it. Bucky's been told how, during a very awkward sex ed class taught by his father, but there was never a...demonstration.

Once it's properly on, Mr. Rogers takes Bucky's hands and gently drapes them over his broad shoulders, pulling them a little closer together. The dog tags tickle against Bucky's chest. Almost nervously, he meets the alpha's eyes, but he finds only happiness there.

"Go ahead, Buck," Steve murmurs, smiling affectionately at him while his thumbs rub circles into his hips. They glide easily over the silk.

Bucky's never been the one to initiate the penetration before – it's always just kinda happened, with him only half there mentally. At first he looks down to make sure he does it right, but Mr. Rogers softly says "eyes on me" and suddenly he can't look anywhere but the alpha's face. The skirt is in the way of seeing anything down there, anyway. Slowly, like he might hurt them, Bucky sinks down until he feels blunt, hot pressure against his soaked hole. He feels raw from being aroused so long without stimulation, and just the simple sensation makes him let out a small noise. Lowering himself further, the head gradually stretches him open, and then he can't help rushing the rest of it, desperate to be stuffed to the brim. His eyes never leave the alpha's, his lips parted while he breathes unsteadily and lets out needy sounds.

"Good boy," Mr. Rogers praises, voice low and rumbling, and his hands slowly slide up to rub over his nipples through the nightgown. Bucky arches into the touch with a breathless moan, fully seated on the alpha's lap now, denim against his ass and feather-light silk clinging to his torso. Pleasure thrums through him, quiet but burning hot. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me what a beautiful little slut you are."

Experimentally, Bucky rolls his hips, letting out a breathless moan when it makes pleasure rush through him. He's a good boy. He'll be a pretty slut for Mr. Rogers.

His hands tighten on the alpha's shoulders, steadying himself so he can slowly lift up on shaking legs and sink back down, and Steve's cock drags along that sweet spot inside him and has him crying out quietly without even realizing it. "Oh my god," he whispers, voice high and breathy, eyes squeezing shut as he raises and lowers himself again. The feeling is downright addictive, that flash of _yes_ when he rolls his hips just right.

The skirt of the nightgown flutters a little around his thighs when he moves, harder and more desperately each time. Big hands stroke up and down his sides, sending shivers up his spine, and he must have tilted his head back at some point because he feels lips against his neck, warm and wet. His arms drape fully around Mr. Rogers' shoulders and his hands search for something to cling to until they find his hair, winding his fingers in it and pressing so close to the alpha while he rides his cock that he's panting softly in his ear.

He feels so damn good. It's different than when he's gotten fucked before, being able to set the pace; he remains more present, though not by much, and he's starting to figure out _exactly_ what Steve does to him that he really likes. And the alpha really likes it too, if the quiet, almost growl-like moans he's making are any indication. His hands slide down to grip Bucky's ass, spreading him even further and squeezing hard.

"Please," the omega begs breathlessly, because he can't move fast enough, can't get enough of his cock filling him. His cock bobs with every movement, aching so badly with the need to be touched and drooling precum.

"You can do it, puppy, just a little longer," Mr. Rogers encourages, pressing a messy kiss to his temple. "Look at the camera. See how pretty you are."

In truth, Bucky completely forgot about the camera. But now he feels his whole body blush and he peeks to his left, at the screen displaying them both.

He looks so strange to his own eyes. He's always known he's objectively attractive, sure – most of him, anyway – but he never thought about his appeal in this sort of way, not until he started seeing Steve. He looks sweet and girlish, just like a debauched little omega should. After only a moment he looks away again, but he feels a bit more confident when he does. Being a needy little thing suits him.

He's slowed his pace just slightly in his distraction, but he picks it back up now, faster than before. Mr. Rogers lets out a long moan and nips at his earlobe, his hips starting to move in tandem with Bucky's so he feels each thrust harder, and after that he comes embarrassingly fast. The orgasm seems to sneak up on him, only really feeling the flood of pleasure after his vision's started to go black and he collapses forward against the alpha's chest. He can still feel the thick cock moving inside him while he lets himself blissfully spiral down into unconsciousness.

...

 

When he wakes up, he's on his side, and his thighs are killing him. He doesn't even worry for a moment that Steve's left him, because he can feel his strength all around him and smell his musky scent, comforting and warm. Making a small sound of contentment, Bucky curls a little closer to him, shifting enough that he feels the knot still swollen inside him, a sign that he hasn't been out for long. A couple minutes, at most.

"You awake, puppy?" asks Mr. Rogers' soft voice, barely a whisper. His fingertips trail lightly up and down Bucky's spine, exposed by the dip in the back of the nightgown. He makes a vague "mmm" noise in response, unable to find the energy for something more coherent, and it makes the alpha laugh quietly. "Can't blame you. You pulled most of the weight this time, huh? Made my job easy."

He thinks he feels lips press to his hair, and he's awake enough now to realize they're not sitting up anymore, Steve's head resting on his pillow. Bucky lets out a massive yawn and lifts his head to blearily look around, his whole body still kind of buzzing with pleasant aftershocks. The laptop on his bedside table is shut so they're not recording anymore, and he laughs at himself thinking how unglamorous it must have looked to see him pass out while still getting fucked. Hopefully the silk slip improved his image a bit.

Mr. Rogers waits patiently for him to wake up fully, still caressing his skin like there's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing. Bucky's bedroom window is open, catching the last warm breezes before fall really sets in, and the familiar lull of New York City traffic drifts inside. It's so peaceful Bucky almost drifts off again.

"I think you should wash your sheets at some point today. Your bed is starting to reek of me," Mr. Rogers whispers sometime later, nuzzling Bucky's hair. "Don't want your daddy to get suspicious."

In an instant, Bucky is awake fully, a twisting feeling in his stomach and his eyes opening to stare at the wall. It's like everything he was worried about earlier comes rushing back to him, but this time Steve is _here,_ reminding him exactly why he wants it not to be true, reminding him how good it feels to be fucked so hard and touched so gently that he feels like the most important person in the world. And fuck, there are tears in his eyes, because he wants to keep this so much, wants Steve all to himself and wants him to be good. And there's a good chance he isn't, which fucking _hurts._

"Are you using me?" he blurts out before he can even think about it. "Are you using me to cheat on someone?"

His voice is quiet and steadier than it could be, but that ain't saying much, considering what a mess he feels like. He has to know. He can't even enjoy the pleasant throb of the alpha's knot inside him, not like this.

Mr. Rogers is silent for a moment, but whether it's out of surprise or from getting caught, Bucky can't tell. Then he lets out a short, uncertain laugh.

"No. D'you think that just because I'm over thirty I gotta have a mate, little one?" he teases, sounding a little amused.

Bucky stays quiet, swallowing hard. He can't fucking tell if he's being lied to or not, and he hates it. All the quick little lies Steve has said to his dad when they've been doing something, all of them rolled off his tongue so naturally, and he just...he's tired. He's physically worn out from the sex, and thinking about this has kept him up late the past few nights, and he's emotionally drained from worrying and wondering...he starts to tremble ever so slightly, feeling vulnerable and wishing he could pull away, but the knot wouldn't allow it if he tried.

"Hey," Mr. Rogers murmurs, concern in his voice. His finger hooks under Bucky's chin to tilt his head up, so he can meet his gaze, but Bucky petulantly snaps his head away, looking down at the bedsheets. He knows it's stupid, but he doesn't want the alpha to see that he's crying. "Bucky, I'm not cheating on anyone. I'm not with anyone but you," he says more seriously, clearly having realized this is really upsetting him. "Why did you ask me that?"

Saying "because my dad said so" sounds so childish even in his head, and anyway, Bucky doesn't really trust his voice to speak. Mr. Rogers sounds genuine in his words, surprised that Bucky would bring something like this up. But he trusts his dad's word, too.

"You got that special lotion that dulls our scents," he mutters after a few moments, picking at the sheets and still not looking at him. "An' you always know what to say to my dad. How to clean up and keep it a secret." Another silence passes between them and Bucky wishes he knew what Steve's expression looked like.

"I guess that does seem a little suspicious, huh?" he says, sheepish. "But I was a kid once too, y'know. I've done my fair share of sneakin' around, and I know it's important that we keep this secret, so I've really been trying to be caref—"

"My dad told me you have a mate."

Bucky's fist is clenched in the sheet and he has no idea where the words he said came from, but he doesn't regret them. Instead he looks up at the alpha, determinedly meeting his gaze with a set jaw even though his vision is blurred with tears. From what he can see, Steve looks intensely confused.

"Sam said that?" he asks.

"Yes. Said you got a beta. He seemed pretty damn certain."

Bucky's words are harsh but he's _shaking._ Mr. Rogers moves his hand as if to brush away Bucky's tears, but seems to think better of it and lets it fall.

"A woman named Peggy?" he asks quietly, almost reluctantly, and Bucky feels his heart shatter.

He squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head, Steve's heart beating just below his ear. He hates this. He hates everything about this. But he isn't left to feel his own heartbreak for long, because very quickly the alpha is gathering him close, kissing the top of his head and murmuring, "No, no, Bucky, it's not like that, I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart...shh, it's okay, you're okay..."

The words wash over Bucky, not really registering, but he stays limp in Steve's arms, accepting the touches because they're comforting, as awful as it is.

"I don' understand," he sniffles, breath hitching as he tries to speak. "Don't lie to me, I don't...I can't..."

"I'm not lying, I've never lied to you," Steve whispers fiercely, gently cupping Bucky's face in his hand but not trying to make him look up, just brushing his thumb over his cheek. "Just listen for a little, okay? I don't know why your dad told you that, but Peggy and I aren't together anymore. We haven't been for two years."

Bucky sniffles again, blinking. He says nothing, but listens, a tiny spark of hope in his chest.

"I met her while I was in the army, when we were stationed alongside British Special Forces," he starts explaining, rubbing Bucky's back. "We were good friends, and when our tour ended, she wanted to come to New York. Two broke soldiers, it only made sense for us to live together."

His other hand brushes up and down Bucky's spine again, and the omega reaches up to scrub the tears from his eyes as they fall. Steve must take his silence as a signal to keep going.

"That was when I was about twenty-five, and we lived together a few years, but then her Visa wasn't approved for her to stay longer," he continues. "We'd lived together long enough that...well, an alpha and a beta..." He shrugs, shifting Bucky slightly. "People assumed we were together anyway, so we...we said we were mated. So she could get a green card, and stay in Brooklyn."

The fact that he sounds slightly ashamed of that comforts Bucky a little bit, as silly as it is. He has a ray of hope that maybe this really is just a misunderstanding, and it's like a weight off his chest. Hesitantly, he looks up, meeting Steve's worried gaze.

"I'll admit, Buck, we were together that way for a while," he says softly. "We tried it out, being mates, and we did everything that mates do. But we were better off as friends, that's all. Good friends, and still are. Two years ago when she decided to go back to London, we officially broke it off."

For a long moment, Bucky stays quiet, too afraid to let himself feel relieved yet. Steve waits for him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"So...that's it?" Bucky asks timidly, and the corner of Steve's mouth turns up in a little smile.

"Yeah, Buck, that's it. I promise you, you got nothin' to worry about," he says tenderly, and Bucky lets out a long breath. "C'mere, sweet boy, I'm so sorry I scared you..." He's pulled tight against the alpha's chest again, and this time he wraps his arms around him in kind, practically clinging to him in his relief. "Are you okay?" Steve whispers, his voice raw with emotion, and Bucky nods against his shoulder.

"Jus' didn't know what to believe," he admits, his voice small. "Started thinkin' the worst."

"That I was just using you to cheat?"

"...and that I wasn't the first one. Y'know. That you had a buncha young omegas lined up."

Steve lets out a short, sad laugh at that, shaking his head. "Couldn't be further from the truth," he assures him, pulling back a little to rest their foreheads against each other and smile at him. His eyes look a little red, like seeing Bucky hurting hurt him too. "I never thought I'd be with someone so much younger than me, Bucky. Never even crossed my mind," he whispers, laughing at himself. "I know other alphas sometimes choose younger mates, but...didn't really understand it 'til I saw you, puppy."

Bucky smiles at that, remembering that night a couple weeks ago. How embarrassed he'd been. He wonders idly if Mr. Rogers was as confused as he was, by all the things he was feeling.

"I know I talk a big game and act all confident, when I'm around you, but honestly, that's just what alphas tend to do when we're turned on," Mr. Rogers chuckles, shrugging. "I'm constantly worried I'm not doing enough, not making you feel good enough...so if you ever feel like I'm just using you again, or anything, you tell me, 'kay? So I can remind you how important you are."

Bucky leans into the gentle fingers brushing his face and nods, feeling better than he has in a week. There's no doubt in his mind that Steve is telling him the absolute truth, and this time he knows it's not just hormones talking. The alpha is so earnest, there's no way he's lying.

"Too early for the 'L' word," Bucky mumbles shyly, smiling and looking down at Steve's chest, "but I like you a lot. And you make me feel really good. About myself, and just...in general. M'sorry I freaked out." The alpha is shaking his head before Bucky even finishes the apology, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Don't have to be sorry, Buck. I'm glad we talked about it."

"Yeah, me too."

"Good. C'mon, puppy, let's get you cleaned up."

...

 

Bucky ends up falling asleep again after Mr. Rogers takes care of him – they decided to watch the video later, when they haven't just had a super emotional talk and Bucky feels like passing out. A good call, really.

He wakes up without the alpha's scent on him, as usual, but there is something else: Steve's dog tags, draped around Bucky's neck on their chain. He squints his tired eyes at them in confusion at first, but then a warm sensation of _owned_ washes through him. It's not a scent or a bondmark, but it's something substantial. He belongs to his alpha. Only him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this at like three am and didn't proof read it so if it's incomprehensible, that's why.


	7. Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this until I wrote the rest of the chapter, because I intended it to be much longer, but I think we all need a little pick me up after this week's debacle. Plus I haven't updated in like forever, sorry about that! Expect another chapter very soon, it's already almost done.

Bucky had no idea he was so _loud_ when he got fucked.

It's a week later when they finally watch the video they made. They're sitting on Bucky's bed, Bucky on Steve's lap and both of them facing the laptop on the mattress, Steve's strong arms around him. At some point Bucky's pants were taken off, he's not sure when, so he's left in just his briefs and t-shirt, feeling like a little kid on his lap.

He can't take his eyes off the screen, absolutely mesmerized by the image of himself in the little negligee, fucking himself on the alpha's cock. Not even Steve kissing his neck and nipping at his earlobe is enough to distract him from it. And god, the _noises_ he made that day, he had no idea...

"You look so gorgeous, puppy," Steve whispers in his ear, breath hot and making Bucky shiver. He still doesn't take his eyes off the screen, listening to the absolutely filthy, needy moans he made every time he sunk down onto the alpha's cock. He didn't even know he could make those sounds.

"Do I always sound like that?" he asks a little breathlessly. For the past ten minutes his cock has been hard an straining in his underwear, making a little wet spot in the front.

"You're quieter when your daddy's here."

Thank god. If he made these noises while Sam was home, there's no way his dad wouldn't know what was going on in his room.

On the screen, Bucky begs to be fucked harder, his wanton voice drifting through the speakers. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink and his wet lips are parted, eyes wide and pleading. Now, Bucky can almost see why Steve would like him so much, if he looks like that. Why he'd want to get him to that place where all he knows is that he needs to come, needs Alpha's cock. It's a good look for him.

"Look at the camera. See how pretty you are," onscreen-Steve says, and suddenly Bucky's making eye contact with himself from last week. His breath hitches and he watches himself blush deeper, ride Steve's cock faster.

He looks _pretty._ Not just slutty, but sweet and delicate. It's different, somehow, seeing it for himself instead of hearing Mr. Rogers tell him – he thought he'd spend the whole time watching the video either judging himself or looking at Steve, but...it's actually making him feel good about himself.

It's strange, too, watching himself come. Usually he doesn't have enough awareness in those moments to think about how he looks, so it's almost a surprise watching his back gracefully arch, hearing the wrecked sound he made. Seeing the way Mr. Rogers looks at him when he comes, like...like he's proud of him, or something. The affection in his gaze is the kind Bucky doesn't think he's felt yet, doesn't think he quite knows _how_ to feel yet. Not because Steve is lacking in any way, but because Bucky's so new to all this. To being with another person this way.

On the screen, Bucky slumps forward against the alpha, completely boneless, passed out. Bucky was unaware of anything that happened from that moment until after the computer was turned off, but the bar at the bottom says there's still a few minutes left of the video, and he leans forward to watch curiously.

He sees Mr. Rogers wrap his arms around him carefully, lowering them both to lie down on the bed. But as soon as Bucky's head is resting on the pillow, the alpha above him, the gentleness ends, and Mr. Rogers is suddenly fucking him brutally.

Watching all this with rapt attention, Bucky gasps very quietly, very nearly coming right then. Mr. Rogers' arms tighten around him, holding him back against his broad chest and growling lowly, possessively, in his ear.

"Had no idea this happened, did you little one?" He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky's jaw at the same time his big hand comes up to Bucky's throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet. He just leaves it there, wrapped around his neck but not constricting, callouses against soft skin.

The alpha on the laptop screen pounds into his Bucky, jolting his limp body up the mattress with every thrust. The skirt of his nightgown is rucked up by rough hands, legs splayed shamelessly and face peaceful in sleep, lips parted.

"Answer me." Steve's voice is soft and tender but his hand tightens just enough that Bucky has to work for breath.

"N-no sir. I didn't know," he replies hazily, the strength of the hand around his throat driving his body into deep submission. Already he's dizzy and his limbs feel weak. His mind starts to go blank of anything but the need to obey the alpha.

"Watch."

Bucky obeys the command even as Steve slowly cuts off his air completely, even as his eyelids begin to droop and his vision goes black at the edges, he keeps his eyes on the screen. He watches himself being fucked, looking so small beneath the powerful alpha, everything else slipping away from his thoughts so easily. His throat and lungs burn with the need to breathe but greater is the need to obey, and with every beat of his heart he feels his cock throb, his pleasure grow hotter in the pit of his stomach.

When the video shows Mr. Rogers climaxing, his brow pinched and a moan on his lips as he drives into the omega one last time, Bucky is finally allowed to breathe. And the fresh oxygen combined with the sight of the alpha filling him with cum has Bucky following instantly.

He lets out staggered, broken cries as he comes untouched in Steve's lap, practically convulsing with it as he gasps for breath. Mr. Rogers just holds him closer, kissing his hair and trailing one hand down to cup his pulsing cock through his underwear.

"That's a good boy, such a good boy," he murmurs. Bucky feels the warmth of his alpha's affection spread through him right alongside his aftershocks of orgasm, letting out shaky little moans as he comes down from his high. "So easy to make you do that, puppy. I bet one day I'll get you to come just by ordering you to."

Bucky honestly doesn't doubt it. At the moment, he thinks he'd be able to fucking _fly_ if Mr. Rogers told him to.

But he doesn't really have the energy to vocalize any of this, instead letting out a pathetic whimper and tipping his head back against Steve's shoulder. Mr. Rogers hums affectionately and Bucky can feel a smile on the lips that press against his cheek. The alpha is still cupping him through the thin fabric, making his cock feel small and sensitive in his big hand.

"Are you nice and slick for me?" Mr. Rogers asks in a low, rough voice, and Bucky nods and swallows hard. His briefs are probably soaked through and making a mess of Steve's jeans, but he doesn't care because he can feel the massive bulge of the alpha's cock against his ass, and he shamelessly presses back against it.

"W-will you fuck me? Please?" Bucky whines, still shivering from his orgasm but already eager for more.

There's a long pause where Mr. Rogers leaves him in suspense, pressing lazy kisses along the omega's jawline.

"Get yourself cleaned up," is all he says in response, and Bucky lets out a desperate sound, squirming in the alpha's lap. "I'm takin' you someplace special tonight, okay? I wanna treat my little puppy."

Bucky freezes at that; for the past few days, Sam – and Bucky, for that matter – has been under the impression that Mr. Rogers is taking him to a presentation on American history at Steve's old college tonight. But a college lecture doesn't exactly sound like a treat, even if Bucky is interested in the subject. Maybe Mr. Rogers is taking him out to dinner too, maybe even someplace fancy downtown.

"So clean up nice tonight," Steve continues, low in his ear and rolling Bucky's balls in his hand through his underwear. "Take a shower. Wash yourself twice. Style your hair up, the way you know I like. Wear those skinny-jeans that make your ass look delicious."

Every word sears itself on Bucky's heart, an order that he can't disobey. He feels himself nodding and stammers his way through a "yes, sir," eyes half-lidded. Mr. Rogers gives his sensitive cock a squeeze, making Bucky gasp and squirm, before letting go completely. His hands move to Bucky's slender waist, gripping him hard enough to bruise and just holding him still while he rolls his hips to rut against his ass.

The denim is rough through the thin fabric of Bucky's briefs, but he doesn't care in the slightest, letting out a high-pitched moan and tipping his head back onto Steve's shoulder. Mr. Rogers isn't being gentle and he loves that, loves that he's just using him to get off.

"Wear these, too," Mr. Rogers growls in his ear, one of his hands moving up to touch the dog tags that rest over Bucky's chest. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop making Bucky tremble with how good he feels.

"Y-yessir," he slurs, breathless and almost completely out of it. He always wears the dog tags anyway, under his shirt so his daddy won't see.

The alpha lets out a satisfied growl and Bucky feels a fresh wave of submissiveness rush through him like a high, his thoughts growing even more distant and hazy, his body relaxing further into Steve's touch. He belongs to Mr. Rogers. He's his to use.

When he finally comes, Bucky feels Mr. Rogers' teeth graze his neck, like he's resisting the urge to bite down. He likes to bite there when he comes, Bucky's found; it's right on his bonding gland, right where someone would bite to claim him. Always careful to never break the skin, though, so he never really makes a claim. It's as frustrating as it is ecstasy-inducing.

The only thing is Bucky comes too, whenever Steve bites him there, so if he's restraining himself, it means he doesn't want Bucky to have another orgasm. Not yet. Instead he holds the omega close against his chest, breathing hard in the wake of his own release, pressing hot kisses along the boy's neck.

"I don't want to leave, but your daddy will be home soon," he murmurs, and Bucky lets out a sigh. "I'll see you in a few hours, puppy. Be a good boy, do everything I told you to." Bucky nods and swallows hard.

"I will, sir. I'll be a good puppy," he promises in a sweet voice, playing it up on purpose because he knows it'll make Steve smile. It does, and he gets Mr. Rogers kissing him heatedly for his efforts.

...

 

"So, did you agree to go to some boring lecture because you actually want to, or because you didn't wanna say no to Steve?" Sam asks, teasing, while he and Bucky put away the groceries he picked up on the way home from work.

Bucky feels himself go red, even as he pointedly looks away from his dad, focusing a little too hard on situating the carton of milk inside the fridge.

"It's on World War II, that's exactly what I'm studying," he says in his defense.

"Doesn't answer my question, though."

Bucky sighs and looks at his dad, who's smirking, and shuts the fridge.

"I'm going because I want to, 'kay? No funny stuff," he promises, grinning. "Don't worry." Sam shrugs it off, sliding boxes into place in the cupboard.

"So...you're not still hurting over what we talked about a couple weeks ago?" he asks carefully, obviously trying to be sensitive about the subject, but Bucky knows exactly what he's asking. He wants to know if he still has a crush on Mr. Rogers.

"No, m'not." Bucky keeps his voice steady – unfortunately he's getting better and better at lying to his dad. He hates it, but at least it's working.

They small-talk for the next few minutes, deciding what they'll eat for dinner this week, discussing how Sam's day at work was. As Bucky starts making himself a sandwich to hold him over until tonight – he's still not sure if Mr. Rogers is taking him out to dinner or not – his dad squeezes past behind him to get out of the narrow kitchen, his hands briefly touching Bucky's shoulders.

He doesn't know why it hits him so suddenly or so strong, but he suspects hormones are to blame when he's struck by the unexpected knowledge that he wants his dad to breed him.

Yeah, he's always fantasized about sex, of course he has. He was doing that before he even really knew that sex with his father was ultimately what he wanted, back when he was just thinking about how much fun it was when his dad took him swimming at Rockaway Beach and lifted him up over the waves, or when he wished his dad still gave him baths. The past few years, he's even toyed with the idea of his father claiming him, a few nights when he was feeling particularly desperate. But never breeding. The numerous fantasies he's accumulated over the years are already shameful enough.

But now he can't stop thinking about it, like a dam broke in his mind. He's always been so good at keeping those thoughts under wraps during the daytime, not letting them distract him, and, and...and now he's just grateful he's standing against the counter, because his cock is rapidly hardening in his pants.

My god, why has he never thought of this before? The idea of his father laying him down, murmuring sweet things to him and spreading his legs, filling him with pups...taking care of him...him _and_ Mr. Rogers taking care of him...

Luckily, other than his hands no longer moving to prepare his food, Bucky shows no outward signs of the turmoil in his head, and all of these thoughts pass through in a few moments. His dad is still making his way out of the kitchen. By the time Bucky resumes his work, he's imaging his father kissing him, calling him his sweet boy, and he's calling the beta "daddy" while he—

No, fuck, he can't think about this, especially not now, not...not ever. It's so wrong on so many levels, even if they're not blood relatives. Sam is still the only father he's ever known, and he loves him as such. And fuck, what would Steve think, if he knew these thoughts in Bucky's head? He thinks he's some innocent pup, when he's really...really fucked up.

He wants Sam's pups. He wants to carry his dad's pups and give him a nice big litter, maybe even one with two sires, him and Mr. Rogers. It's a nice thought, even if it'll never happen. Even if he can never tell anyone what he wants.

"Hey kiddo, make sure you wear a sweater tonight, it's chilly outside," his dad's voice calls from somewhere in the house, snapping Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, I will Dad," he calls back. It's a little tricky to talk through the tightness in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys know bucky_bear, the user I dedicate every chapter to? We've been internet friends for going on four years, and last month we finally met! She came all the way to Michigan from Australia and she's been living with me (that's part of the reason I took so damn long to update, we've been having too much fun), and she's not leaving until January. Internet friends are real friends, y'all.
> 
> Also sorry for the unexpectedly sad ending haha I didn't actually plan that it just happened. I know you came for the filthy sex but I am such a sucker for angst, so expect more of that in the future. And just to give you an idea of how long this story will be, I've mapped it out and right now it's looking like 25 chapters.


	8. Gazes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten years later, I finally post something. Please forgive any typos because as usual, I wrote this at one am. Hope you all have had a great new year so far!

So, as it turns out, they're not going to a lecture. And now Bucky feels a little silly for thinking they were.

At first he was too engrossed by the fact that he's in Mr. Rogers' car, alone with Mr. Rogers where there's no chance of his dad coming home or walking in on him, in an enclosed space that smells so much of the alpha that Bucky's put in a half-trance almost as soon as he sits down in the passenger seat. He didn't notice that they were driving further downtown instead of toward any college the lecture might be held at.

The car isn't quite what he expected, either. He's not sure why, but he was kinda expecting a sleek Porsche or a Jaguar or something. Not a Honda.

"Sweet boy, so trusting, so naïve," Mr. Rogers teases, laughing when Bucky admits his obliviousness to tonight's plans. His hand is on Bucky's thigh and the omega's legs are spread wide, hopeful. "I told you, I'm treating you tonight. Very good job following my instructions, by the way."

Bucky's face grows hot but he basks in the praise. He cleaned up nice, just like the alpha ordered, wearing those skinny jeans and even the sweater his dad told him to. He was a good boy. Mr. Rogers looks nice too, as always, in a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and slacks. All of Bucky's thoughts are a little hazy, surrounded by the alpha's scent as he is, and he's been half-hard the entire ride.

"Where're we goin'?" he asks curiously, glancing around out the windows for any potential destination. It's dark outside already, the nightlife of New York just beginning, girls walking down the street in clothes they have to be freezing in. "Are we seeing a movie?"

Steve takes a moment to answer, rubbing Bucky's thigh and sending him a look that almost seems unsure.

"Well, if you don't like where I'm taking you, we can do that, yes," he answers carefully, moving his hand from his leg to turn at an intersection before replacing it. "But I hope you'll like it."

Now Bucky's more curious than ever, squirming slightly in his seat and scanning the buildings outside even more intently. He thinks he hears Steve chuckle quietly.

"So...is this like a date?" Bucky asks, shooting him a glance, and he watches a smile spread across Mr. Rogers' face as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"If all goes well, it'll be a bit more than that, puppy," his deep voice rumbles, sending shivers through the omega.

"'Kay," he says quietly, and then after a moment, "I wasn't expecting your car to be so...tame."

"I don't usually drive it," the alpha admits. "I take my bike just about everywhere."

"You're one'a those eco-friendly guys, huh?"

"My _motorcycle,_ Buck."

Bucky's eyes go wide, and for the rest of the drive, the image of Mr. Rogers straddling a motorcycle keeps him quiet.

After not too much longer, Mr. Rogers pulls into a parking garage, and Bucky still has no clue where they're going. As soon as they get out of the car into the chilled October air, the alpha walks up next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, keeping him close and warm.

"C'mon, really, where are you takin' me?" He presses, looking around once they get out onto the street.

"Someplace nice."

"Well, thanks, but _where?"_

Mr. Rogers laughs and leans over to press a kiss to his hair, which takes Bucky by surprise. They're in public, there are other people walking quite close to them on the sidewalk, and Bucky is very obviously much younger than Steve. Bucky silently thanks New Yorkers for collectively having a "mind your own fucking business" approach on life.

Part of him is still paranoid that they might run into someone he knows, who might tell Sam. But for the most part, he's with Mr. Rogers out in the city lights together, for the first time. It's exhilarating but he feels safe, held so close against the alpha, and he's warm even though it's almost cold enough that he can see his breath.

As they head down the sidewalk, Bucky becomes aware that they're definitely in the...adult entertainment district. The sidewalk becomes populated with more and more scantily-clad people, talking excitedly and clearly looking forward to a night of fun. There are omegas wearing collars, drag queens, alphas that Sam wouldn't let Bucky within thirty feet of...he's in for an interesting night, that's for sure.

"Are...we going to a strip club?" he asks hesitantly, looking up at Steve who seems to think for a moment before answering.

"Not exactly," he answers, cryptic. It isn't much comfort to Bucky; he's heard lots of things about strip clubs, the way they treat omegas. It's not the kind of place an omega would be very entertained, he thinks, and he's not sure how the hell Mr. Rogers would be planning on sneaking a fifteen year-old inside, anyway.

"If you don't like it, we'll leave right away," Mr. Rogers says quickly, seeming to read his distress. "We'll go out to dinner, catch a movie...my friend has been trying to convince me to come to this place for ages, actually, but I wasn't really interested until I met you. Not exactly the kinda place that's fun to go to alone."

It only makes Bucky more curious, but not long after Steve says that, he directs Bucky towards a door wedged between two clubs. There's a tasteful metal sign above the door that reads "Stark's", and it looks more expensive than either of the storefronts on each side of it. Mr. Rogers presses a button beside the door, and for a moment nothing happens, but then a voice comes through a speaker loud and clear.

"What's an old spinster doing at my door?" asks a man's wry voice, and it makes Steve look up, Bucky following his gaze to a security camera pointed their direction from above the door.

"Paying my very ungrateful friend a visit," the alpha quips, raising his voice a bit.

"Fuck off, Rogers," grumbles the voice, but a moment later there's a buzz, unlocking the door, and Mr. Rogers holds it open for Bucky.

Still not understanding, but trusting the alpha, Bucky steps inside to see a dimly lit staircase leading up. It's not dingy by any standards, in fact the stairs are all glass and stainless steel. The lack of lighting must be a stylistic choice.

"Want me to go first?" Steve asks gently once he's inside, standing behind Bucky while the omega takes it all in.

"No, I got it." He starts heading up the stairs despite his confusion, wanting to prove to the alpha that he isn't scared. He's still grateful that Mr. Rogers sticks close behind him, though, their hands occasionally brushing on the railing. "So, you know the guy that runs this place?"

"Yeah, Tony Stark. Try not to be put off by his...him. He can be a bit overwhelming at first, but he means well."

It gets a bit brighter once they reach the top of the stairs, but the light is different shades of blues and pinks. Music reaches Bucky's ears, but not at all the kind he expects – instead of a heavy bass, it's...jazz, it sounds like. Not even an upbeat jazz with a fast tempo, but a softer kind that he could almost fall asleep to. What _is_ this place?

They reach the top of the stairs and Steve's arm slides around his waist, leading him to the right, into what looks like the lobby of the fanciest hotel Bucky's ever seen. Still dimly lit, but there's an elevated front desk, a fountain, leather chairs like an upscale waiting room. It also isn't the source of the music, which seems to be coming from behind a wide silver curtain on the opposite wall, apparently leading to another room. But it can't be a hotel. They can't stay the night, and he doesn't see any elevators or stairs leading up...

Before he can contemplate further, the man sitting behind the desk approaches them, readily walking up to Steve and clapping him on the shoulder even though he's several inches shorter than the alpha. The man is an alpha too, Bucky can smell, and it takes him by surprise at first. Not because he doesn't look the part, but because Bucky's never been this close to two alphas at once before, and he's an unclaimed omega. He's heard stories, terrible ones about what can happen, alphas losing their control and fighting each other over omegas when hormones are high. The last thing Bucky wants is for Steve to get hurt because of him.

But the alpha doesn't seem aggressive in any way. He's got dark hair with a bit of grey at the temples, sharp facial hair and warm eyes. A bit underdressed for the venue, Bucky thinks, in a band t-shirt and jeans.

"Glad you finally dragged your ass in here, Rogers," the man says in the same wry tone. Tony Stark. He must be. "Did your delicate sensibilities make it hard for you to find the place?"

Delicate sensibilities? Bucky looks up at Mr. Rogers to gauge his reaction, and he's smiling, which eases his worry a little bit. They can leave at any time, he reminds himself. They don't have to stay. But right now, his curiosity is keeping him here.

"You're hilarious," Steve deadpans. "I come to your super secret club like you tell me to and this is what I get? Might just turn around and leave."

"You would never," Tony says knowingly, then turns to Bucky and says conspiratorially, "He likes to act like America's golden boy, but those are the ones that _really_ enjoy the kinky shit."

Bucky blinks in surprise and Steve's hand rubs up and down his back, grounding him. Mr. Rogers doesn't seem like anything's golden boy, or anything this Stark guy is saying.

"I'm Tony, by the way," the alpha introduces himself, his voice kind, and sticks out his hand for Bucky to shake. It's a surprising gesture, one alphas would normally refrain from when it comes to young omegas, and that makes Bucky hesitate. "It's okay, kid," Tony says softly, offering a smile, but he slips his hands in the pockets of his jeans anyway. "I'm spoken for. Not gonna bite."

Of course. It was just like his dad was saying, Bucky's not used to alpha scent so he can't pick up the nuances of it yet. If he could, he'd be able to tell the difference between a bonded and un-bonded alpha. As it is, he can barely tell the difference between Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark's scents, and supposedly every alpha's is slightly unique.

"You must be the famous Bucky Barnes," Mr. Stark continues when he remains silent, still trying to figure out what's happening. The fact that he already knows his name catches Bucky off guard, and it must show. "Steve won't shut up about you. Nice to know someone finally won his heart, it's been so goddamn long I thought he might never—"

"Tony," Steve interrupts, sighing long-sufferingly. The corner of Mr. Stark's mouth twitches up.

"Yeah. Well. Let's just say I was hoping he'd bring you in here."

Bucky can definitely see what Mr. Rogers meant by "overwhelming", what with Stark talking a mile a minute. But he isn't exactly uncomfortable, more...intrigued. Mr. Stark seems to have nothing but kind things to say, despite his abrasive way of saying them, and his smile is genuine.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Stark," he says politely once he finally feels like he can get a word in edgewise, and it makes the alpha smile.

"There's a good boy," he says in a warm voice. "Pleasure's all mine. Steve said you were well-behaved."

Bucky's not sure why, but it makes his heart swell, the thought of Mr. Rogers telling his friends about him. Telling them he's a good boy. It makes him feel like Mr. Rogers really does want to be with him, and not just for a little while.

"Um...what is this place?" he asks Mr. Stark hesitantly.

Steve laughs softly and pulls Bucky closer, kissing his forehead. Weirdly, Mr. Stark seems entirely unfazed by this – he must've been warned by Steve beforehand, Bucky figures, that there was such an age difference between them. But how could Mr. Rogers even tell him that without worrying he'd take it the wrong way? Most people would call the cops on the spot.

"It's heaven for a horny little pup like you, I'll tell you that," Mr. Stark answers, and Bucky actually feels his jaw drop. Tony takes a step back and looks Bucky up and down, making the omega blush under his gaze, still reeling at his comment. "And you're underdressed for the occasion. Overdressed? Overdressed."

Almost like he's unable to sit still, Mr. Stark strides back to the front desk, ducking down to pull something out from underneath it. In the quiet that follows, Bucky hears something else alongside the soft music coming from the other room. Voices, maybe? Not singing, but people talking. The whole place has a surreal feel to it, almost too luxurious to really exist, and the haze in his mind from the mingling alpha scents isn't helping. He'd wonder if he were dreaming if not for Steve's solid presence beside him.

Mr. Stark returns with a flat box and holds it out for Bucky to take, which he does in hesitant hands.

"Tony, please tell me you didn't," Steve groans in the tone of someone fighting over a dinner bill. The other alpha grins and gives him a wink.

"You'll thank me later. Besides, he doesn't _have_ to wear it."

"It" turns out to be lingerie, quite like what Mr. Rogers already bought him, only more...elaborate. It makes Bucky's skin grow hot just looking at it. It's lavender colored, he thinks, but it's hard to tell in the strange lighting. There's lace underwear, entirely see-through and so delicate Bucky's afraid he'll rip it if he even tries to put it on. The bralette is purple lace too, femininely intricate and low-cut. And then there's something he's never seen before: stockings, and what looks like a garter belt. Like the kind in in vintage dirty magazines. He has to lean heavily against Mr. Rogers because of how weak his legs suddenly feel.

"Oh, Buck..." Steve murmurs in his ear, reaching over to rub the barely-there fabric of the stockings between his fingers. The sight of them seemingly made him forget he was upset with Tony. "Sweet puppy, you'd look incredible in these." He's already dizzy and turned on enough, but Mr. Rogers' words make him whimper.

"I can see why you like the little guy," Mr. Stark muses.

"Please tell me you didn't special order this just for him."

"No. Maybe."

"You have to let me pay," Steve says exasperatedly, but Bucky's only half listening, still staring at the lingerie and feeling it against his fingertips. He glances back up at Mr. Stark – who is this strange alpha, who buys such lavish, custom gifts for an omega he doesn't know and can't have? Doesn't even want? That's something alphas just don't do, in Bucky's experience. Not that he has much. They pamper their own mates, or omegas or betas they want to woo. Not to mention that Bucky's age should make any alpha hesitant to buy him things like this. The whole situation is so bizarre that Bucky wonders if he's dreaming.

The alphas continue to talk for a few moments, but his attention is only drawn when he feels Steve's lips at his ear, murmuring, "Will you put it on for me?"

Bucky nods, staring into the box as if hypnotized, and warm lips press against his temple.

"Changing rooms are down that hallway, past the restroom," Mr. Stark tells him, pointing. "But I gotta say, they're kind of unnecessary. We'll be seeing everything soon enough anyway."

Bucky's still not entirely sure what's going on, but he's slipped into that place where he trusts his alpha implicitly, where nothing else really matters. It's a nice, almost dream-like place. He doesn't have a damn care in the world, going trance-like to the dressing rooms when Mr. Rogers nudges him in the right direction. He'll be a good boy. He _likes_ being a good boy, it feels so nice to be a good little boy...

The dressing rooms are as luxurious as the rest of the place, with thick curtains instead of doors, and plush benches inside. There doesn't appear to be anyone else around, but he pulls the curtain shut anyway before stripping off his clothes. Folding them neatly on the bench, Bucky opens the box of lingerie again, first putting on the underwear because it's the thing he's most familiar with. It cradles his cock and balls, even half-hard as he is, definitely not designed for a girl but for a little omega boy like him. Swallowing hard, he moves onto the bralette next, and it takes a couple of tries before he's able to awkwardly get it on properly. It hugs his chest in a way that almost makes him feel like he _should_ have small breasts, and almost makes it look like he does. His breath comes a little faster.

If all goes well...he will start developing there, if Mr. Rogers breeds him. When he breeds him. A small omega like him, he won't get very big – an A cup most likely, _maybe_ a B – but it still makes his heart race to think about it. His belly will grow much more, to accommodate the pups, and he trails his fingers lightly up the sensitive skin that's exposed between the underwear and bra. When he reaches the hem of the bralette, he hesitantly cups his pecs through the fabric, imagining something there. Barely-there breasts, sensitive and just enough for Mr. Rogers to grip in tight handfuls, so hard it would hurt just right—

He's only just put the panties on and already he's making a mess of them.

The stockings are easier to handle than the bralette, thankfully. They're very long and Bucky worries about them catching on his toes and laddering, but they go on smoothly, all the way up. He'll ask Mr. Rogers if he can get a pair to go with his little nightgown, he decides, bashfully admiring how dainty they make his legs look. And the garter belt, for all its straps and ribbons, goes on pretty easily too, even if he had to twist around a little to fasten it to the stockings. It doesn't exactly cinch his waist, but it ain't loose either, emphasizing his hips. He decides to leave Steve's dog tags on, even though the metal looks strange with the delicate things he's wearing; it shows he belongs to Mr. Rogers.

He doesn't think twice about leaving the dressing room wearing only the lingerie, the smooth stone floor strangely warm beneath his stockinged feet. He's stumbling slightly because he's so turned on, and there was already slick on his inner thighs when he went to put the panties on. The stockings go all the way up past his knees, and thankfully omegas have naturally light, fine body hair, or he thinks they might not have been as flattering as they are.

His eyes immediately seek out Mr. Rogers, who's talking with Mr. Stark in the lobby still, but when the alpha turns and sees him, he stops mid-sentence.

"Told you you'd thank me," Mr. Stark says smugly. Steve doesn't seem to hear, walking towards Bucky and almost looking like he's in pain when he looks the omega up and down slowly. Bucky shifts self-consciously under his gaze, wondering if something's wrong.

"Sir?" Bucky asks timidly, his voice wobbling a little. He wants to be in the alpha's arms, he's in a strange place and it's been too long since Mr. Rogers held him, he wants to be close to him—

The alpha kneels when he gets directly in front of Bucky, but he doesn't have time to be surprised by it because Mr. Rogers immediately grips each of his thighs in his big hands and spreads them, as much as he can with Bucky standing, and then— _oh._

Bucky has to lean forward and hold onto Steve's shoulders in order to stay standing, letting out a soft cry and squeezing his eyes shut. Mr. Rogers isn't even licking where he needs it, where he needs it so bad, but he's lapping up the excess slick dripping down his thighs and his skin is so sensitive there and everything is so hot and wet and good he can't think. Mr. Stark is right there, Bucky can feel him watching them, but all it does is make him gush more slick, his hole pulsing with it.

"Look at your good boy." Mr. Stark is talking to Steve, but when Bucky forces his heavy eyelids open, the alpha's dark eyes are locked on him.

Bucky nearly sobs when Mr. Rogers pulls away, when he can no longer feel the alpha's hot breath against his arousal through the lace. But when the alpha straightens up, his eyes are hungry and possessive, his hands somehow both rough and reverent when they grab his hips to pull him closer, and it immediately has Bucky spiraling into submission. His gaze is locked on the alpha, awaiting instruction, waiting to be used.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's a good boy," Steve says breathlessly, never looking away from Bucky.

He feels pretty. He feels so pretty and good and he wouldn't have a care in the world if Mr. Rogers fucked him right here in this strange place, in front of this strange man.

"Save it, Rogers," Mr. Stark says good-naturedly, approaching them both and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. His touch is gentle, but Steve lets out a low warning growl that makes Bucky's insides melt, his eyes intent on his alpha as if there's not even another person present. Tony backs off after that.

"Alright, say no more. Just don't blow your load too early, big guy."

Mr. Stark starts walking away and Mr. Rogers follows, his hands firm on Bucky's shoulders as he guides the omega to walk ahead of him. What Bucky really wants to do is follow after him like a puppy, but he lets the alpha steer him, caught in a daze and watching as Mr. Stark approaches the silver curtain. This close, the music and the voices are more distinct, punctuated with other sounds he didn't hear before. Moaning, maybe? What the fuck is going on, are they watching a porno in there?

No, that's ridiculous, he reminds himself. Porno theaters aren't a thing, he's pretty sure. But he's...what, all dressed up – is he about to be put on a stage? It he supposed to put on some kinda show at a strip club?

He's just starting to feel panic well up in his throat when Mr. Stark pulls back the curtain. And it doesn't lead out to a stage – in fact, there isn't a stage in the room at all.

The centerpiece of the dimly lit room is a fountain. Nothing special, just quiet bubbling over some modern art piece. Surrounding it are round suede couches, some with tables in the center and some with foot rests, all of them shades of dark purple or blue. The music seems to come from the very walls, everything glass and metal and heated stone floors like an upscale apartment. That's probably what this place was, Bucky realizes, before it was turned into...this. There are floor-to-ceiling windows that make up one wall, with sheer curtains covering them that don't quite snuff the city lights outside.

And then there's the people. Not very many of them, probably because it's only nine pm, but the few that are there make an impression. Alphas, betas, omegas – a mess of scents that hit Bucky like a wall, all lounging on the couches like they own the place. Nearly half of them are dressed in similar clothing to Bucky – though, he notices, none of their outfits are quite as expensive or elaborate, which makes guilt twist in his gut at the thought of how much money must have been spent on him. And every single one of them is having sex in some way, shape, or form.

It's not an orgy, Bucky's pretty sure. The people are fairly spread out, split into pairs and one group of three, and don't seem to be paying much attention to anyone outside their individual groups. It ain't loud either, just the occasional stray moan; they're mostly carrying out hushed conversations and laughing and drinking fancy things like they're at a regular bar. One omega is sitting on her alpha's lap with her head on her shoulder, the woman's hand between her omega's legs and slowly stroking her beneath her skirt. Another person who might be a beta is sprawled on one of the couches, having a casual conversation with someone while an omega kneels on the floor in front of him and sucks him off. In the back corner, a female alpha lets her male omega get off on her – this omega is wearing a collar, which makes Bucky's legs wobble a little.

The whole scene makes him dizzy, really. He leans back heavily against Steve, who's there as a warm, steady presence to support him, while he drinks it all in. It's all very quiet and...sweet, in a way, with the gentle music playing and not an upset or rowdy person in the place. They all look happy, in various states of ecstasy and comfort. But it's a lot to take in at once, especially for Bucky who's hardly dared to even watch porn before (there's only one computer in their house, and it's a desktop monitor that permanently resides in the living room).

"Like what you see?"

Bucky's eyes snap away from the scene in front of him to look at Mr. Stark, who's standing next to him smiling patiently. Glancing back at the room for a moment, he meets the alpha's gaze and nods, cheeks going red.

"I think so," he laughs softly, just a little nervous. "Still not... _quite_ sure what's goin' on." Mr. Stark gives a casual shrug and Steve's broad hands rub up and down his shoulders, grounding.

"All you need to understand is that you're here to enjoy yourself," Mr. Stark assures him, sounding genuine. He looks back at the curtain they've just come through, and following his gaze, Bucky notices a man standing beside the doorway that he didn't see as they were coming in. He's wearing a suit and a smile, broadly built and probably a beta because Bucky can't pick up a scent from him.

"This is Happy." Mr. Stark claps the man on the back as he introduces them, and Happy gives a little wave. "Anyone gives you any trouble, he'll take care of 'em. Assuming your He-Man alpha doesn't get to them first. I've got a pretty extensive screening process for the people I let in the club, but...well. Never can be too careful."

It's the most serious Bucky has seen the alpha yet, and that brings him the most comfort. Clearly safety isn't something he takes lightly.

"Nothing will happen, don't let Tony make you paranoid," Mr. Rogers murmurs close to his ear, and Bucky melts back against him a bit.

"Alright, both of you out of my sight," Mr. Stark says with no fire behind his words, waving them away. "Have a seat, have a drink, have fun."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Bucky says quietly, and the alpha gives him a smile before he exits through the curtain back into the lobby.

There's a moment of uncertainty, bordering on panic, where Bucky has no idea what to do, but very quickly Steve is steering him in the right direction again, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

"I'll admit a certain amount of cluelessness when it comes to this place," Steve laughs softly, directing Bucky toward one of the round couches in the back corner of the room by the window. "I came to the grand opening, for Tony, but...well, I've never come _with_ anyone. That was after Peggy left."

This couch is one of the few with a round table in the middle, and they slide around to the back; from this angle they can survey the rest of the room, but no one is really facing them. It's as private as this room can get, Bucky thinks, and he appreciates that they're starting slow. Maybe one day he'll get up the courage to sit in one of the middle couches, one other people are sitting on. Mr. Rogers puts his arm around his shoulders and Bucky automatically leans against him, still surveying the room with great interest. Everything feels heightened – the warmth of the alpha beside him, the smooth leather against his legs and back – and it's probably because he's barely dressed, the lace and gossamer decorating his skin more than it's covering it.

"What...do we do now?" Bucky asks uncertainly, looking up at the alpha. Steve smiles at him, the little half-smile accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows, that look of unfettered adoration that he gives Bucky so often. That makes him feel warm, even if he's not quite sure how to respond to it or what he did to deserve it.

"Whatever you want, pup," Mr. Rogers murmurs, his free hand moving to the omega's thigh. The sudden feeling of the decision being on his shoulders has Bucky reeling, and not in a good way. This is all so overwhelming, and weird, like he shouldn't even be allowed in this place, yet here he is being treated like a wanted guest by the owner. And yeah, everyone else around them is fucking, but no one looks even _remotely_ close to his age—

"Bucky. Relax; come give me a kiss." Steve's gentle voice breaks through his worried thoughts.

He can palpably feel his anxiety melting away once he's given something to do. He's confident about a lot of things, but sex ain't one of them yet, especially with ten other people in the room.

Looking up at Mr. Rogers, he sits up slightly and tilts his head to reach the alpha's lips, gentle and eager to please. The alpha kisses him back warmly, and they keep the kiss slow, but there's a heat building behind it – maybe because of the atmosphere of the place, or maybe because Bucky always wants to be fucked by this man, always.

"You're such a good boy for me," Mr. Rogers murmurs against his mouth, just before he catches Bucky's lower lip between his teeth. It makes him let out an involuntary whine, high and breathy. "You always listen so well, wear such pretty things for me...I wanna do right by you, baby boy."

As he speaks, Mr. Rogers' warm hand comes to rest on his leg, brushing his thumb along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. It's like the praise from the alpha warms him inside and out, his eyelids growing heavy with that feeling of safety, of not having to worry about a damn thing because his alpha will take care of all of it. He leans in as close as he can get against Steve's side, whimpering very quietly whenever their lips part and leaning up eagerly into each soft kiss from his alpha.

"W-want more," he whispers, his voice shaking just slightly with nerves and arousal. It's all he really knows right now, all he can contribute.

"I know you do." The alpha's breath is hot against his lips, his hand ghosting up his leg to cup his small cock through the lace it's straining against. Bucky's hips jerk. "Sit on my lap, little one."

Bucky practically scrambles to obey, but Mr. Rogers' strong hands gently stop him when he goes to swing his leg over the alpha's lap to straddle him. Bucky breaks their kiss to look at him with wide, confused eyes, brow furrowed.

"Other way," the alpha explains with a soft laugh, and he guides Bucky so he's sitting on his lap facing out instead of towards Mr. Rogers. For a moment he's confused, because he always likes to see his face when they fuck, but this way, he's much more exposed to their potential audience. Like he's on display. His heart beats a little faster.

"Sir," he breathes, eyelids fluttering. A big hand presses against his bare chest and pushes him back, until he's resting against the alpha.

"Just relax."

He soft words seep into his bones and he slowly goes completely pliant against the man. Mr. Rogers is warm and solid, his scent familiar in this new and strange place.

The hand not on Bucky's chest starts sliding up his thigh, agonizingly slow, until his cock positively aches with want, and then Mr. Rogers' big hand is pressing, pressing, _pressing_ , so hard it almost hurts but the pressure is so welcome Bucky nearly cries. He wants to roll his hips up against his hand, but he can't, he's relaxed, he has to stay relaxed for the alpha like a good boy.

"F-fuck," he whines, high and shaky. Mr. Rogers rubs the heel of his hand over his little cock and nips at his ear, letting out a low hum. He's hard, Bucky realizes, feeling the growing bulge against his ass.

"You want me to fuck you right here? Where everyone can see?" the alpha whispers in his ear, hot breath tickling. Bucky finds himself nodding instantly. He needs it like he needs air, his heart about to pound itself out of his chest.

Steve takes his time, moving his hand between them to unfasten his pants. There's a few moments where Bucky just feels movement beneath him, and then the hot, hard line of Mr. Rogers' cock through the lace panties, drawing a shaky moan from him.

He must lose time again for a few moments, his head lolling back against Mr. Rogers' shoulder, because the next thing he knows, the lace panties are pushed down to the top of the stockings, bunched up under the straps of the garter belt, and Mr. Rogers' thick cock is pressing inside him with ease. He should be humiliated, a quiet voice says in the back of his mind, hazy and subdued. But he doesn't. Part of him wants people to see, wants them to know he's taken and fucked and _owned_ by this alpha – it's an old instinct, mating displays in public to drive other alphas and betas away from that omega, and this club capitalizes on it, Bucky dimly realizes.

He lets out a thready moan at the hot stretch of the alpha inside him, now fully seated on his cock. It makes a couple of heads turn, people who aren't _too_ distracted turning to look. Bucky's cock twitches and precum pearls at its head.

"A-alpha..."

"Ride my cock, little one," Mr. Rogers growls, low and dangerous, and nips at his ear. His voice goes straight to Bucky's arousal and instantly he's obeying, he's a good boy, he does as he's told...

Trembling, Bucky rolls his hips, but he can't get a purchase on anything to properly move up and down. Once Steve realizes this, he grabs the boy's hips, lifting and lowering him like he weighs nothing, until Bucky's hardly doing any work. He's just along for the ride, letting out soft, choked cries each time he's filled up again. Addicted to the sensation.

He forces his heavy eyelids open to survey the room again, his vision swimming for a moment before he sees the couches, the colored lights, the fountain. Four people are watching, by his count. Some of them smiling, some murmuring to their partners. One omega with his hands bound behind his back, getting pegged as he's bent over the back of a couch, meets Bucky's eyes with a blissed-out expression that matches his.

"Putting on a show, puppy?" Mr. Rogers asks heatedly, instantly capturing all of Bucky's attention.

"Hope so, sir," he says in a shaky laugh, and feels the alpha smile against his neck. He hopes he's doing a good job. He hopes these attractive people like what they see.

Steve's grip tightens on his hips and that's the only warning he gets before he's suddenly being moved much faster, practically bouncing on the alpha's lap. His cock is hitting that perfect angle every time and he lets out a small shout of surprise, the loudest noise in the room over the other people's moans and the running fountain, but he doesn't give a shit, not when he feels so good he could pass out.

"Sir, sir, please," he whines, desperate for a hand on his cock, which is flushing darker and darker and leaking profusely. Fuck, he needs this, he needs this every day for the rest of his goddamn life. This place he's in right now, right on the edge of coming and being assaulted with so much pleasure he doesn't know what to do with it, is absolute heaven and torturous at the same time. He could touch his own cock, bring his own release, but the alpha pounding into him keeps him obedient. He has to be a good boy.

When he comes, he does it untouched, and his release arcs across the expensive-looking glass table in front of them. He spasms in Steve's arms, keening quietly, until he's left a mewling, quivering mess against his chest. Trailing kisses along the omega's neck, Mr. Rogers hums appreciatively, still hard inside him, and as Bucky lays there recuperating, his hands wander. One of them takes the boy's soft cock in his hand, so gently the touch is hardly there, and the other brushes up his stomach to lay over his chest, over the thin fabric of the bralette.

"Don't get worn out yet, pup," he warns in a murmur. "We've got all night long."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! And more coming to come. Thanks for being patient with me.
> 
> I have the whole story planned out from beginning to end, but I want to know what fun stuff you guys want to see along the way! Any kinks you want me to cater to? Please let me know.


	9. Spectators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super late and I have no excuse! Hooray!
> 
> I wrote this at 3am and it isn't proofread but I'll go back over it in the morning probably. Sorry in advance for mistakes!

Bucky still can't believe this place is real, or that he's allowed inside it.

Mr. Rogers didn't come inside him, which was a slight disappointment to not be knotted, but like the alpha said, they have all night. Well, a few hours, at least – his dad will be expecting him home at _some_ point. Besides, it means Bucky gets to touch Mr. Rogers' hard cock while he sits next to him, which is fun.

He's still in the haze of orgasm, leaning heavily against Steve's shoulder and trying to get his heart rate back to normal levels while they talk quietly to each other. Bucky's hand is wrapped around Steve's girth, mesmerized and moving slowly up and down his shaft, tracing every vein under the silky skin. It feels nice to touch, warm and heavy in his hand, and Bucky periodically gives it a squeeze just to feel how hard he is. The fact that he stays that way makes pride swell in Bucky's chest.

"I'm real proud of you, puppy," Mr. Rogers murmurs to him. The alpha is looking at him with that inexplicable fondness in his eyes again, an arm draped around the omega's shoulders, fingertips trailing lazily up and down his left arm. "I know this is a lot. Thanks for trusting me, and giving it a try."

Bucky blushes and hides his smile, pulling his legs up onto the seat and curling a little closer against Mr. Rogers' side. They're both much more comfortable on the couch than they were to begin with, Mr. Rogers' legs splayed and his posture relaxed, which makes Bucky think the alpha was a bit nervous about coming here too. The thought comforts him.

"Course I trust you," he says like it's obvious, his eyes fixed on Steve's leaking cock as he keeps stroking it.

"But you don't have to. And I'm glad you do."

The alpha's praise makes him feel warm and wanted. More at home in this strange place, which is becoming more busy as night properly falls. A couple sits on the couch beside theirs, not facing them but close enough that Bucky would be able to hear their conversation if he wanted to eavesdrop.

They keep talking quietly, laughing – occasionally Mr. Rogers will let out a soft sigh or hum of approval at what Bucky's doing with his hand. It feels like they're just doing what they normally do in private, but there's a kind of...dangerousness to it, being in plain view of other people. And being able to see them too, to watch them in these intimate moments. Some people, Bucky notices, are almost paying more attention to the fact that they're being watched than they are to their partner, and seem like they're putting on a show for everyone else's benefit. While others are being purely intimate, clearly involved in one another, so much so that Bucky almost feels like he's being invasive by looking at them. He's not sure which of the two groups he finds more attractive.

Right then, he's mostly focused on touching Mr. Rogers, so when a thick line of precum runs from the head of his cock down onto his hand, Bucky doesn't even think twice before ducking down to lick it away. It doesn't immediately occur to him that he's never put his mouth on a cock before, lapping shamelessly at the head, but he does realize with the first swipe of his tongue that the taste is absolutely addicting. He lets out a moan of pleasure and surprise, leaning further over the alpha's lap, and he's about to wrap his lips around him when he hears approaching footsteps on the stone floor.

Feeling like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, Bucky instantly jerks up, and feels his whole face go red when he finds himself looking up at a waiter. He shrinks back against Steve's side, mentally kicking himself and no longer touching the alpha's cock.

"Mr. Stark sent these over," the waiter says in a kind voice. She's an omega, dressed in black pants and dress shirt with a bartender's apron around her waist, and on the tray she's carrying are two drinks in stemmed glasses.

Mr. Rogers doesn't seem phased by the fact that he's exposed in front of her, his cock laying heavy against his thigh as he gives her a smile and shakes his head.

"Thank you. But tell him not to give us anymore free stuff, will you please?" Steve says with a sort of helpless laugh, taking the drinks from her and setting them on the low table at the center of the round couch.

"I'll try. But you know how he is."

Bucky's face is still red by the time Steve has thanked her again and she's left, but he's hiding it against the alpha's chest now. Steve pets his hair and Bucky can feel his eyes on him.

"You gonna come out again, puppy?" the alpha asks gently, teasing. "Or are you a turtle now?"

"Shaddup," Bucky says harmlessly. He swats at the hand petting his hair and Mr. Rogers laughs.

He knows that he wasn't doing anything wrong, in his rational mind. The waiters here are definitely used to seeing people doing... _that,_ since it's what people come here to do. Duh. Of course he wasn't doing something wrong. But the rest of his mind is still catching up to the fact that this is okay – not just having sex in front of these people, but not having to keep his and Mr. Rogers' relationship a closely guarded secret.

"Are those martinis?" he asks curiously to distract himself, reaching up to fix his hair once he emerges again.

"Yup, courtesy of Tony."

Bucky looks at the glasses a moment more.

"...They're the drinks like in James Bond, right?" he asks in a slightly softer, shyer voice, and Steve smiles widely at him.

"Yeah, Buck, exactly like James Bond." His voice is patient, and Bucky watches as he reaches forward to take one of the glasses, holding it between them. "Want to try one?"

Bucky freezes, staring at the drink for a moment before his wide eyes flick up to Steve's. Is he really offering...?

"Am...am I, I mean, is that allowed?" he stammers. It's already weird enough that no one has had any reaction to their obvious age difference, but underage drinking is something else.

"Tony wouldn't have sent over two if it wasn't okay with him," Mr. Rogers assures him. "And I'm okay with you having one, if you want to – I think I was your age when I had my first drink. I'll be right here making sure you're safe."

Bucky can't say he hasn't wanted to before. He's jokingly asked Sam for a sip of his beer or wine, on the rare occasions his dad drinks. And so far everything Steve has been introducing him to has been so nice, he trusts that this will be the same. Besides, one won't hurt him.

He takes the glass very carefully in his hand, considering the clear liquid for a moment; inside the glass is something yellow and curly, maybe part of a lemon peel? Bucky decides to avoid that part.

"Slowly, okay? Just take sips," Steve murmurs when he lifts it to his lips, and obediently takes a small swallow.

It's absolutely freezing cold, which is kind of nice, but he can't really notice any kind of taste because of the burn at the back of his throat. His face screws up a little from it, but he still gets it down, shivering a little. When his gaze falls on Steve again, his expression skeptical, the alpha looks like he's trying not to smile too widely or laugh.

"People enjoy this stuff?" Bucky manages, coughing a bit and feeling like every teen movie cliche in existence.

"It's an acquired taste." Mr. Rogers' eyes are warm when he says it, rubbing Bucky's back. He's got one hand on his cock, Bucky notices then, tugging at it slowly to keep himself interested. He finds himself staring at it, watching the slow movements, the way a bead of precum oozes out of him and drips slowly down the alpha's knuckles. It tasted so good before, and now he kind of wishes he hadn't even pulled off when the waiter came over – it would probably make him look pretty grown up, pretty promiscuous if he'd just kept suckling on Steve's cock, and he's pretty sure the alpha would have been proud of him too.

"Can you take another drink, and bend over for me?"

Mr. Rogers' words cut through his thoughts, and his gaze snaps back to the alpha's face, closing his mouth which was hanging open without him realizing. The alpha's looking at him fondly, patiently, every inch showing that it's a request and not an order. Bucky still wants to obey anyway, with every cell in his body.

Taking a bigger drink this time, and gulping it down as quick as he can, he consciously tries not to look like an idiot and cringe like he swallowed a lemon this time. Maybe it doesn't really work, but at least he tried, and he's still excited to see if he feels any kind of side effects from this.

"How d'you want me?" he asks uncertainly, and Steve carefully moves the glasses aside, then puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder. He expects Mr. Rogers to turn him to the side on the couch, to present with his ass in the air the way a good omega should, but instead the gentle hand just guides him forward, the room spinning for a moment until his cheek is resting on the cool glass of the coffee table and his stockinged knees hit the floor.

His heart beats a little faster. This is different, more...demeaning, in a good way. They're not making like the couch is their bed, and they're just in Bucky's bedroom as usual. No, they're in a bar, in public, and Mr. Rogers is bending him over a table so he can fuck him for everyone to see. The cold glass feels alien against his bare chest, but he stays absolutely still on it – from this angle, he can see the backs of the heads of the couple on the couch next to theirs, and wonders if they'll turn around and see him like this.

"That's a good boy, just like that," Mr. Rogers hums appreciatively, and Bucky hears the quiet tear of an opening condom wrapper. He's still sitting on the couch, comfortable as ever while Bucky kneels like a good little thing on the floor, his small cock perked between his spread legs as he waits to be fucked. Bent over like this, the straps attaching his stockings to the garter belt dig into his ass cheeks.

"Where can I put my hands, sir?" Bucky asks in a small voice. Being told what to do by this man is a high at this point, and he's chasing it.

"Behind your back. Don't move them until I tell you to."

Now holding his own hands, resting at the small of his back so he has no choice but to put all his weight forward on the coffee table, he waits. It takes longer than he wants, but he just imagines Mr. Rogers looking at his little hole on display for him, dripping for him, and then—

He doesn't get a warning before the alpha presses inside him, making him let out a shaky gasp. Almost immediately Mr. Rogers sets a steady pace, jostling Bucky's body slightly with each thrust like he's a rag doll just there to be fucked. And as much as he likes it, he laments that Steve isn't touching him anywhere else. Until a large hand presses down on the side of his head, holding it down against the table and making Bucky let out a moan, uncaring of who hears him.

"I need it, I need it, oh god, please give it to me," he begs in a breathless whine, unable to see the alpha but hearing the soft huffs of his breath. Honestly he's not sure what he's pleading for at this point, whether it's just the alpha's knot, or his bite, or his cum inside him...he just knows he _needs._

"Yeah? You need it so bad, little puppy?" Mr. Rogers croons at him, and pushes his thumb past Bucky's lips while he holds his head down. The omega immediately takes it between his teeth and sucks on it without question. "Wish you could see yourself like this."

He'd usually be trembling by now, with how good he's feeling, but he feels so relaxed, a warmth in his belly that's different than the hot need between his legs. Mr. Rogers takes his bitty cock in hand and gives it a few fast strokes, which makes Bucky yelp because he's never done that before while he's fucked him and _god_ it's good, it's so good, overwhelming him with pleasure.

The alpha's voice is deep and rough when he says, "Come. Right now, come for me," and it's like a goddamn magic spell. Bucky's body seizes up on command before he's even done speaking, pushed to the edge before it even feels like it's possible. He doesn't even have to think about it, like his biology is completely at this man's surrender, unable to disobey him if he tried. Not that Bucky's complaining, caught off guard by his sudden orgasm and twitching and whimpering against the glass that's now fogged from the heat of his body. He's a good boy. He did what Alpha told him to.

Mr. Rogers doesn't stop once Bucky has come. He moves even faster, punching little breathless mewls from him with each thrust. The hand holding his head down is replaced by Steve's other hand none-too-gently grabbing his face by his jaw, pushing two fingers into his open mouth. Bucky tastes his own release when he sucks on them, moaning around the digits. It's heaven, absolute heaven, his body still buzzing with pleasure from his orgasm and being practically assaulted with more and more.

And all the while, he feels eyes on them.

He's being much less quiet this time because he just can't find the same self-consciousness in him that he did earlier, and he _wants_ people to watch, wants them to see what an absolute whore he is for this man.

The only thing that would make it better were if they were watching him being bred, right then. If they were witness to him surrendering everything he had to this alpha, giving his body to this man's pups.

Mr. Rogers pulls on one of the straps on his ass and lets it snap, making Bucky yelp around the fingers in his mouth and clench down on the cock in his ass. His reaction doesn't change the second, third, fourth, or fifth time, his ass stinging but his cock twitching, and on the final time he feels the alpha come inside him. The swelling knot makes him whimper, makes him tremble, his legs spreading further on the smooth stone floor as his prostate is mercilessly pressed upon, and he can't stop moaning – high, breathless noises that are muffled by the digits he's still obediently sucking on, over and over again because almost painful bursts of pleasure keep wracking his body.

When the fingers finally pull out of his mouth, leaving his lips shining with spit, he forces his heavy eyelids open. He's not sure when he closed them. The room spins and spins and he smiles at it, letting it dizzy him while the alpha's knot throbs inside him.

The couple on the next couch _did_ turn around, Bucky discovers once his vision finally focuses, both of them watching him with hungry expressions. When he manages to lift his head, glancing around the room, he sees even more, and he looks back at them glassy-eyed and dazed.

"You're the prettiest little thing here," Mr. Rogers hums, running a hand through Bucky's hair and petting him. Instantly his world narrows to his alpha again, eyes drifting shut and leaning into his touch.

"C'n you hold me?" he asks in a small voice. He's still keeping his hands behind his back, as much as he wants to reach behind him and touch the alpha, wants to make sure he stays close. Mr. Rogers wastes no time gathering him up into his arms, though, pulling him back onto his lap while they're still tied together. He's so warm against Bucky's back, a welcome change from that cold table, and the omega turns his head to nestle against his neck, breathing in his scent. And when Steve's big arms wrap all the way around him, making him feel like a little kid, Bucky holds onto them.

"You're such a good boy," Mr. Rogers whispers, voice close to his ear. "I'm right here Buck, not goin' anywhere."

Slowly that fragile feeling dissipates – Bucky knows to expect it now, at least, and Steve knows how to take care of him when he's like this. Maybe one day he'll be able to function normally after getting fucked, but whatever, he likes being held. It's no big deal. He listens to the chatter and moans and soft cries around them, taking stock of himself. His ass still smarts a little, and there's a red line across his stomach from where the table dug into him a little. Other than a little wear on the knees of his stockings, he's good. And doesn't feel much different than usual.

"Pass me my drink?" he asks sweetly, and Steve obliges, tipping the cold glass to his lips for him and taking it away once Bucky's had a swallow.

Even more people are coming in now, the sound level gradually rising. Bucky is silently thankful that the crowd tends to stick to the couches right around the fountain, unsure if he's ready to mingle with anyone else yet. He likes watching, though, and for a while that's all he and Steve do, spectating as other couples trade omegas or gather around and give attention to just one. Some omegas are even passed around several alphas and betas, looking like they're having the time of their lives. And even though Bucky's a little too worn out to get hard again, he thinks he could, just watching them. If he really wanted to.

The fact that he's drunk kind of sneaks up on him.

Mr. Rogers has to tell him, actually. After he catches Bucky staring at the ceiling with the same kind of raptured wonderment that he was at the fucked-out omegas. And yeah, everything feels fuzzy and warm and so, so good. He tells the alpha that, repeatedly. The room spins and spins and Bucky feels a bit like he's floating, but he'd chalked that up to amazing sex. Though it makes sense that that wasn't the case.

He likes being drunk. Especially once Mr. Rogers starts touching his cock again.

He's still touching Bucky's cock, slow and gentle with the little thing in his large hand, when two women come to sit beside them on the couch. Admittedly, Bucky's not really attention to anything around them, his face buried in Steve's chest, half asleep and just enjoying the sensations and the alpha's breathing. He knows they're there, and hears their pretty voices, but their words don't really register.

"He's so precious."

"Our friends were here earlier, they told us you guys were having fun. The pup must be so tired!"

"He is, he's had a long night." The alpha's voice rumbles low in his chest, and Bucky likes the way it sounds. "It's his first time here."

"Oh we come all the time, you should bring him by more."

"I think he'll want to, yeah. I'm Steve."

"Maria. Good to meet you."

"I'm Carol! Can I pet him, is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

A gentle hand strokes through Bucky's hair, smaller than Steve's, and it feels good, a small smile tugging at his lips. He can't smell anything from her, and guesses she's a beta.

"What a cutie. You take care of him, okay?"

Steve laughs and it almost sounds shy, his arms tightening around Bucky.

"You can count on it. We should get going – past his bedtime, y'know."

Mr. Rogers scoops him up and stands, making Bucky dizzy for a long moment as he makes his way between the couches. Bucky catches bits of other conversations as they go by that he can't make sense of, never opening his eyes or caring that the alpha is carrying him like a toddler through a crowd of people. He's exhausted, and thinking that maybe he should've eaten something before they left, but he feels safe and warm in these strong arms. It reminds him of when he was real little and his dad would take him to parties or work events that he'd fall asleep at, and have to be carried out to the car.

But Mr. Rogers doesn't take him immediately to the car, and at first that has Bucky confused. They must be through the thick curtain and in the lobby again because the noise suddenly gets a lot quieter, more muffled, but then the alpha is setting him down and Bucky groans in protest, gripping onto his shirt.

"Gotta get your clothes back on, puppy," Mr. Rogers laughs softly, supporting most of his weight while Bucky sways on his feet. "Unless you'd like me to take you back to your dad wearing lingerie. And no underwear."

Bucky imagines his dad seeing him like that. Would he tell him how pretty he looked in it? Would he cup the little breasts of the bralette or snap any of the straps like Mr. Rogers did? God, Bucky wishes...

But he goes along with Steve to the changing rooms he was in only a few hours ago, which feels like days. Never once does he open his eyes, letting the alpha maneuver him into his clothes – right over the lingerie – with minimal moans and groans. And when he's dressed, Bucky raises his arms, like a toddler, asking to be picked up again, knowing full well Steve can't say no to him when he's cute.

He's right. This time Steve carries him on his hip instead of bridal style, down the stairs and out into the street, which doesn't feel nearly as chilly as it did earlier. Bucky clings to him like a koala and lets himself be carried back to the car, fully planning on falling asleep during the ride home.

The sound of Steve's car beeping as he remotely unlocks it jolts him awake.

"Wait, hang on, hang on," Bucky says, and it sounds too loud even to his own ears, echoing around the empty parking garage. He lifts his head too quickly and forces his bleary eyes open, heart suddenly beating very fast. "Don't— hang on."

"What's up?" Steve asks, gentle. Bucky feels his eyes on him but he can't really see straight.

"Y'can't, I— hang on."

"Hang on for what, Bucky?"

He's slurring, and panicking, and he knows it, and he can feel the strap from the garter belt digging into his ass. Not in a good way this time.

"Put me down."

"Alright, relax, sweetheart, you're okay..."

Steve slowly lowers him to his feet and Bucky leans heavily against him, trying not to hyperventilate. He's looking at the car, at the keys in Steve's hand, and he still can't see straight. At least his ass feels better now.

"You can't drive, please don' drive," he begs, looking up at the alpha with wide eyes and shaking his head. It starts throbbing when he does that, and his stomach churns a little.

"W...why not?" Mr. Rogers speaks slowly, like he's talking to a child, but Bucky knows he's just trying to understand. He just can't get the words out right.

"You were drinkin', you can't— _please_ don't drive..." His breath catches in the middle of his sentence, and his eyes feel hot, throat tight like he's about to start fucking crying.

"I wasn't drinking," Mr. Rogers says immediately, and starts taking off his jacket. "C'mere, Buck, you're shivering."

He is, he realizes, he's shaking so hard it almost hurts, but he can't tell if he's cold or not. He's wearing a sweater already, but the alpha drapes the big coat around his shoulders, and it fills his nose with his scent. Normally that would calm him, but it doesn't do much now. He doesn't want to fucking cry, but his face already feels wet, and the ground won't stop tilting under him.

"You _were,_ th' guy gave us the James Bond drinks, you _were_ drinking," he insists, petulant, breath hitching with little sobs. Pathetic, he's pathetic. And he's scared. Downright terrified.

Mr. Rogers seems really worried about him, and puts both of his big hands on his shoulders, bending down so they can look each other in the eye for a long moment. He seems to consider him, eyes wide with concern and brow furrowed.

"Bucky," he says slowly, seriously. "I didn't have mine. You had yours. I would never, _ever_ drink and drive."

Bucky sniffles, drawing the jacket a little closer around himself, still shaking.

"Please don' drive," he whispers, a quiet, broken thing.

Mr. Rogers' shoulders sag slightly, but then after a moment he straightens up and draws Bucky close against his chest, just holding him. Deflating against him, Bucky starts full-on crying, quiet but shaking harder than ever, staining the alpha's shirt with tears. He does that for a long time, and Steve doesn't say anything, just pets him nice and gentle.

"M'sorry, m'sorry," Bucky whimpers eventually, wiping his snot on his sleeve without realizing it's really Mr. Rogers' sleeve.

"Don't gotta apologize," the alpha murmurs, kissing the top of his head. "You got scared. It's okay."

"I jus'— drinkin' and drivin', I c-can't—"

"Shh, it's okay. I mean it, I would never do that. Especially with you in the car, Christ..."

They stand there a while longer, Bucky spending every second hoping Mr. Rogers won't let him go, and he doesn't.

"I can call a cab," the alpha offers quietly after a while. "Come get my car in the morning." But Bucky's shaking his head before he finishes his sentence.

"Don't. M'okay, let's jus' go."

"You sure?"

"Yeh."

"Alright, Buck."

He knows he does this. It's not a drunk thing, it's a Bucky thing, a fucked-up-Bucky thing, and it probably won't stop happening anytime soon – though, hopefully, without this much crying next time. That part was a little abnormal. At least he's calm enough to let Mr. Rogers lead him to the car, to buckle him in, to keep himself breathing normally while they pull out of the parking garage.

He's asleep before they make it down the block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for your patience. I've been doing a lot of outlining of this story, and right now I have over thirty chapters planned, so...yeah, it's gonna be a long one. I've got tons planned for Sam, don't worry! His and Bucky's story is just a bit of a slow burn.
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know what you liked and didn't like about this chapter, I wanna make you guys happy!
> 
> As always this chapter is dedicated to Jordyn who I miss very much!


	10. Dizzy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so damn long, as always!

"Bucky? Buck, c'mon, I just need you awake for a second, pal."

"Mmph."

"I know. You can go back to sleep after, but you gotta do this for me."

Bucky slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting. He'd slumped down in the passenger seat in his exhaustion, Mr. Rogers' big jacket bunched comfortingly around him – they're not driving anymore, he realizes dimly, glancing out the car windows. They're on a familiar street, but not home yet, still downtown. And Steve has...McDonald's cups. Four of them, and a bag, like he raided the drive-thru while Bucky slept in his getaway car which now smells like french fries.

"Wha..?" he says blearily, looking over at the alpha, who gives him a sort of exasperated smile.

"It's water. You're gonna want to drink as much as you can, if you don't want a hangover," he explains gently, holding out one of the plastic cups to him. Instead of taking his arms out of the warm cocoon of Steve's jacket, he just leans forward a little and takes a sip from the straw, making the alpha laugh a little. The sound has Bucky smiling, even though he still feels pretty shit. He knows he's cute.

And he didn't quite realize how thirsty he was until he started drinking – it's enough for him to snake one slow and tired hand from the jacket cocoon, taking the cold drink and cradling it close to him so he can keep taking sips. Mr. Rogers gets the takeout bag onto his lap and unrolls it, poking around the contents of it until he pulls out three cheeseburgers with one large hand. Bucky watches him, eyes half-lidded and drinking obediently.

"Be a good boy and eat a couple of these for me, too." The alpha's tone is warm and innocent enough, but Bucky knows he threw a "good boy" in there to compel him to listen, and damn if it ain't working.

There's a strange domesticity to them unwrapping and eating their cheeseburgers side by side in the car, trading the sleeve of fries back and forth. Bucky's definitely still drunk but not too much to appreciate the moment. And in a way, it's their first date. This whole night is. A pretty good one, if Bucky says so himself, minus the crying spell in the middle.

An apology sits on the tip of his tongue for a while. He keeps eating and drinking to distract himself, feeling the slight edge of nausea dissipating the more he does.

"Sir?" he says in a small voice when he finally convinces himself to get it over with, gulping down icy water. "Um...m'sorry I didn't believe you, earlier, when you said you hadn't been drinkin'—" But Mr. Rogers waves him off, shaking his head and swallowing his bite before he speaks.

"It's okay to be scared, puppy," he says softly, and leans across the center console in a way that has to be uncomfortable, to kiss him on the forehead and linger there, petting his hair. "I'd never put you in danger like that. Not my boy. Or anybody else, for that matter." The alpha is so understanding, but Bucky still feels like a dumbass. He should be over this by now, it happened so long ago.

 _My boy._ He lets those words ring pleasantly in his head.

Mr. Rogers' hand stays there lazily stroking the short hairs at the back of Bucky's head, even as he keeps eating, lulling the omega almost to sleep.

Once Mr. Rogers seems satisfied with what Bucky's eaten, he starts driving again, Bucky watching shapes pass by out the window. He thought he managed to stay awake, but the next thing he's aware of is being carried up the stairs to his and his dad's apartment, and his eyelids feel so heavy he doesn't even try to open them, just buries his face further against Mr. Rogers' chest. When he stops walking Bucky feels it, and a moment later hears a knock.

"Steve— hey, little man didn't fall asleep in the middle of the seminar, did he?" he hears his dad ask with a quiet chuckle, after the door creaks open.

"No, no, he was a very good student. We stopped for food on the way home, he zonked out in the car after." Bucky sways slightly in Steve's arms as he steps inside, and squints against the light, making a small noise of complaint. He's so, so tired, he just wants to go to bed. And whenever Steve talks, it rumbles in his chest, right against Bucky's ear, and it's so loud...

"Not surprised, you guys were out pretty late. Thanks for takin' him to that thing."

"We had a lot of fun, sorry I kept him so long—"

"Not a problem, man, not a problem. Glad you guys got to nerd out. Here, I can take him—"

"I got him, I can take him to his room no problem."

"Alright, I'm gonna head to bed, then. Thanks again, Steve. Especially for carrying my teenage son up those stairs, you strong son of a bitch."

"Don't worry about it, he's tiny. Get some sleep Sam."

Bucky feels someone's hand in his hair, briefly, running through it once before he hears his dad's retreating footsteps. And then Steve's on the move again, into Bucky's blissfully dark bedroom. He's so ready to just curl up and sleep when the alpha sets him down on his bed, but Steve starts undressing him. Not to fuck him again, which is Bucky's first thought, but to get him out of his jeans and lingerie. Bucky groans in halfhearted frustration the entire time.

"You'll thank me tomorrow," Steve assures him, and Bucky's sure he's right, but he's _tired._

He draws the line when Steve tries to make him put on pajamas, tiredly swatting him away and burrowing under the covers naked. It makes the alpha laugh softly, and after he kisses Bucky's forehead, he's dead to the world.

...

 

The next day is Saturday, big breakfast day, Bucky's favorite day. Even when he wakes up with a slight headache, and a little later than he usually does, the smell of waffles is enough to push his worries away. His head spins and throbs a little when he gets out of bed, sure, but it's really not that bad. So he get himself dressed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the back of his door when he does, and laughs at himself. He's a mess, yeah, his hair wild and bruises covering his skin. Nothing that can't be hidden by normal clothes, thankfully.

Once he gets his hair looking a little more normal, and he's wearing a hoodie and jeans, he heads out to help his dad in the kitchen, only to find he's woken up so late that breakfast is already on the table.

"Morning, sleepyhead," his dad laughs at him, setting the mixing bowl in the sink to soak. "Sleep okay? Heard you guys had a wild night."

Bucky gives an exaggerated sleepy groan, flopping down in his seat at the table.

"Waffles today?" he yawns, stretching.

"Uh-huh. Blueberry for me, and chocolate chip for you, sweet tooth."

"Yummy," Bucky hums as his dad puts his plate in front of him, taking his seat too.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he teases. "I want your sleep schedule back to normal before your lesson Monday, alright? Or I'll send you to public school."

It's an empty threat and Bucky knows it, a long-running joke between them. Bucky rolls his eyes at him and grins around the bite he's taken, chocolate chips melting on his tongue.

He _almost_ says "yes Daddy," but he stops himself.

God, he wants to tell him. He hates keeping secrets, he fucking hates it, especially from his dad. He knows one of these days he's just gonna burst and tell someone, whether it's his dad or one of his friends. And that'll end badly.

He watches his dad eat, listens to him go over lesson plans for the week without really listening. Gives a vague answer about really enjoying it when he's asked about the seminar last night. He wolfs down his own food, trying to keep himself distracted –   
if his mouth is full, he can't say anything stupid, right?

"Hey, I love you," he says anyway, when there's barely a pause in their conversation. His dad looks up from his food and gives him an odd look across the table, and Bucky sure as hell knows why. Yeah, they say they love each other, but it's always when saying goodnight or goodbye. Never just out of the blue like this, and more casual. Less "I love you so much" and more "love ya have a good day."

"I love you too, kiddo," his dad says slowly after a pause, sounding a little uncertain. "...are you about to ask me for money, or did I just put more chocolate chips in your waffles than usual?"

 _I want you to fuck me,_ Bucky's brain so unhelpfully supplies. He gives a nervous laugh.

"It's the chocolate chips," he shrugs, and his dad smiles and straightens up in his chair a little.

"Well, if you want chocolate done right, you go to someone who's chocolate," he says slyly.

"Oh, god, that's the most embarrassing thing you've ever said."

...

"Get on your knees."

Probably Bucky's favorite words Mr. Rogers has ever spoken. He drops so damn fast it makes him dizzy, like his body has been waiting to kneel for this man since the moment he caught his scent.

It's Monday morning, his dad is at work, and Mr. Rogers is here to play with him. Every time he comes over, Bucky gets that feeling in his belly like it's Christmas, and today is no different. He shifts slightly on the floor, impatient and eager, hoping he'll have rug burn on his knees by the end of this.

Mr. Rogers stands in front of him, looking down as if considering something, a secretive smile on his face. Reaching forward, he gives the strap of the bralette Bucky's wearing a tug, letting it snap back against his skin. The omega lets out a whimper. He put on the pink lace panties and bralette before Steve got there, not even bothering to wear anything over them; when he looks pretty like this, when he dresses up nice just to be fucked, Mr. Rogers treats him like a sweet little whore – well, more than usual. Plus, the slight scratch of the lace against his cock leaves him feeling raw in the best way.

Mr. Rogers' hand trails slowly up his neck, the light drag of fingers making Bucky shiver, until he's cradling his jaw. Bucky leans into the touch, watching the alpha raptly through hooded eyes.

"You wanna try something new today?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. Bucky swallows and nods, turning his head to lick the alpha's palm, a shy, barely-there brush of his tongue.

The alpha is still fully clothed, wearing a dress shirt that's rolled up to the elbows and neatly pressed slacks. He's even still got his shoes on, fancy leather dress shoes that Bucky wants to bend down and kiss, and he can't help wondering if Mr. Rogers dressed up for him too. He looks like a CEO, which would make Bucky his sugar baby who sucks him off under the desk while he works. He'd probably call him "daddy" too...

Jesus, his imagination is getting way ahead of him.

He takes deep breaths to try to clear his head, but it feels like he's just dosing himself with alpha scent, swaying slightly on his knees. Mr. Rogers' hand moves up to grip his hair, holding him steady, and the pain of it goes straight to his cock.

"We'll go slow. I'll guide you through it," the alpha hums, and with his free hand starts unbuckling his own belt. "We'll stop whenever you say."

His gentle words sharply contrast the tight hold on his hair, but Mr. Rogers has never pushed Bucky too far before. He asserts his position over him, makes the omega feel bitty and overpowered, but it's always with the weightless feeling of security. He's safe with the alpha. Mr. Rogers leaves bruises on his skin, but only because Bucky always begs for more.

And he's so damn close to begging now, with Steve taking his sweet time freeing his cock. Bucky's been able to see the outline of it in his dress pants almost this whole time, so big and straining against the fabric – and hell, he's glad he's not the only one who gets excited as soon as they get each other alone. The alpha finally takes it in hand, the tip drooling precum, and gives it a few lazy strokes while Bucky unconsciously leans forward, eyes locked on it, until a tug on his hair brings I'm back to himself.

"You want a taste?" Mr. Rogers asks, like he doesn't already know the answer.

"Please," Bucky manages, breathless. There's a drop of precum so close to dripping from his slit onto the floor, leaving him unable to focus on anything but catching it on his tongue before it falls.

Finally Mr. Rogers pulls his head in close and Bucky leans forward on his knees, lapping broadly over his cock with the flat of his tongue. It's like the taste of him shuts off any part of Bucky's brain not associated with getting _more,_ instantly addicted and hungry for it. He lets out a muffled whimper, shuffling closer.

"Hah— eager little puppy, huh?" Steve laughs breathlessly, like he hadn't quite been expecting that much enthusiasm. When he starts to back up, Bucky panics for a moment, but he's only moving to lean against the wall, bringing the omega with him. Bucky crawls forward and settles contently between his legs again, eyes drifting shut as he licks over the alpha's cock and keeps his hands behind his back like a good boy. Mr. Rogers is holding it still for him.

It doesn't take Bucky long to realize that every time he laves his tongue over the underside, just below the head, the alpha's cock throbs, bumping against his upper lip. Steve's breathing goes all funny, too. Eager to please, Bucky carefully takes the head into his mouth, wet lips wrapped around it so he can feel it twitch against his tongue and give a lot of attention to that spot. And fuck, he likes making his alpha feel good, but he also just likes this feeling of something big in his mouth. Mr. Rogers' cock isn't very far in, but it's thick and stretches his lips, and he still has that need for more. He really does feel like a puppy, being given a taste of a treat, wanting to do tricks to get more and more and more. Mr. Rogers is so big and warm and hard in his mouth, Bucky's own cock is left aching between his legs.

"That's a good boy," Steve croons, and it makes him shiver. And then his head is being pressed closer – just a bit, but now the tip is against Bucky's soft palate, pushing and opening him up wider. He lets out a muffled moan, and for the first time manages to focus his eyes and lift his heavy lids enough to look up at the alpha. Steve still looks well put-together, only the slight redness of his cheeks and the wanting look in his eyes that Bucky knows giving him away. Bucky keeps his gaze on him while he tries something, suckling on the alpha's cock like he's nursing off it, hollowing his cheeks. For a second Steve's eyes go a bit wide, and then he lets out a ragged sound, tipping his head back against the wall with a thud.

Pride runs through Bucky, almost smiling around his cock and sucking harder, letting his drooping eyes close again. He lets himself slip into the lulling trance his instincts like to send him down in. There, he's only able to think about one thing, and everything is so easy, he feels like he's floating. He's a good boy. He just has to suck Alpha's cock, and it feels _so good_ to suck his cock, because it's what Alpha wants. Doing what Alpha wants feels so, so good...

"Come in closer, Bucky. Tilt your head up more."

The gentle command isn't even processed in his mind before he's obeying, shuffling forward without opening his eyes. Because why should he question Alpha's orders? He knows best. He gets control.

He hears Steve shift against the wall, and then both of his hands are in Bucky's hair, just cupping his head gently while Bucky keeps obediently suckling. It takes him a moment to realize that he's pressing himself further in, his hot cock sliding back on his tongue and touching the back of Bucky's throat, which convulses briefly in a gag, but he doesn't pull away – it doesn't even cross his mind. Especially when Mr. Rogers' cock pulses on his tongue from the squeeze around it. He just lets his alpha feed him more.

The alpha doesn't stop after that. Bucky keeps thinking no more will fit in, but then more _is_ in, and he's in too much of an entranced, relaxed state to worry about it. Every now and then he gags again, but he's absolute putty in Steve's hands, swallowing down as much as he's given and craving more.

"Relax your throat," the alpha instructs, and Bucky does, though he didn't know how before he was told to. Alpha just makes everything so easy and good.

Finally he feels his nose press against Steve's warm skin, his cock seated as deep in his throat as it can go. All he can smell is Alpha. Bucky feels completely relaxed, pleasure humming through him, completely trusting of the alpha and anything he wants to do to him.

"You're such a good boy – fuck, you're doing so good for your first time," Mr. Rogers praises, panting a little. "I'm gonna do most of the work, alright? Just relax."

It reminds him of something, but his mind is too hazy and faraway to place it. Regardless, he loves the feeling of Steve's hands in his hair, even the ache in his knees from kneeling so long. That he'd been expecting; what he hadn't was the way his throat feels like it's bulging, filled up with the alpha's cock. Of course, he hadn't expected his dad to be so big...

And god, that's it, isn't it? He's thought about this so many times, imagined the scenario over and over, but with his dad. Being taught so patiently, guided through how to make him feel good just like his dad teaches his school lessons. That's how it always starts in his fantasies, his daddy walking him through some algorithm and then segueing into "and now I'm gonna teach you something else, but first you have to get on your knees," or some other cheesy porno line. He hasn't thought about that in a while, since he started doing stuff with Steve, but it used to be one of his go-to fantasies when he was touching himself.

He's brought back to the present, sent spiraling down into that blissful, quiet, submissive place, when Mr. Rogers starts thrusting down his throat.

He goes slowly, but it immediately has heat pooling in Bucky's belly. He's drooling all over himself, but he doesn't care in the least, obscene sounds filling his ears. There's something about the alpha still being fully clothed, fucking the omega's throat while he's on his knees and dressed like a little girl...Bucky probably shouldn't love it as much as he does. If he weren't under orders to be relaxed, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from humping the alpha's leg, so needy he's whimpering. And the alpha just moves faster, and Bucky gets dizzier – sometimes he times his breaths wrong or forgets to breathe through his nose and feels like he's choking on it – submitting to it completely. He's a good boy. He loves his alpha's cock and he's a good boy.

Above him, Mr. Rogers lets out deep, quiet moans, and by now Bucky knows him well enough that when the sounds change slightly, he knows he's close. The alpha's thrusts becoming a little more frantic, stuttering, quickly confirms it.

Bucky's never actually felt the alpha come inside him without a condom, and he isn't quite prepared for it.

Mr. Rogers pulls his head back slightly, sliding out a couple inches of his cock, and Bucky can't understand why, whining and squirming to try to get it back, but the alpha holds him firm. A moment later he understands, when his fat knot swells up right in front of him. And a split second later, his cock throbs in Bucky's mouth and something hot spills down his throat, more and more with each pulse as the alpha groans and gasps. There's _so much_ of it, and Bucky swallows as much as he can, but he feels some drip down his chin.

When it finally stops, Steve is panting above him, and he gently pulls Bucky off, cock giving one last weak twitch. Bucky's mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, his jaw aching. Dazed, he tilts his head back and takes in the sight of the alpha, the light sheen of sweat on his face. He's smiling and it sends warmth down Bucky's spine.

"You did so good," Mr. Rogers whispers, one of his hands sliding out of his hair to cup his face. Bucky's mouth is still hanging open, and he blearily raises a hand to wipe away some of the mess there, then smiles dazedly back.

The alpha's knot is still hanging heavy between his legs, and Bucky shyly leans forward, glancing up, and starts kissing and licking along it. Just little kitten licks like before, but he also lifts one of his hands to wrap around and squeeze it, remembering he liked that. Mr. Rogers makes a breathless, appreciative noise.

"You like sucking my cock, little one?" he croons, thumb brushing along his cheek, and Bucky leans into the touch.

"Yeah," he mumbles against his knot, smiling. It's so hot and smooth against his lips. "Tastes good."

"You look so pretty doing it, too," the alpha hums. "On your knees, and dressed up so sweet for me..." Bucky suddenly feels Mr. Rogers' foot, still wearing its shoe, nudge up under him, against his cock and balls through the lace. He whines sharply, pressing down against it and giving more enthusiastic attention to the alpha's knot. "You like getting your throat fucked?"

"Y-yeah, yeah Daddy," he pants, spreading his bent legs on the carpet so he can go down further, desperate for friction.

"God, I love it when you call me that. Tell me what you need, puppy."

It takes a moment for Steve's words to register in his mind.

His head is still very foggy, and he has to stop moving and backtrack, swaying slightly on his knees. He called him that. He called him _that._ Horror turns his blood cold, and suddenly he isn't so needy anymore, letting go of the alpha's knot and leaning back, until he's scrambling backwards on his knees, back hitting the side of his bed in his panic. He stays there, heart in his throat and unable to look up at the alpha, eyes wide and fixed on the ground as his breathing turns frantic. Oh god. Oh god, he's fucked everything up.

"Buck— Bucky, hey, what's wrong?"

Mr. Rogers' words slowly cut through his panicked thoughts. He's shaking now, knees pulled up to his chest and feeling so incredibly vulnerable, exposed. He wishes he had more clothes on.

"Bucky..."

He's kneeling in front of Bucky now, cock put away and gentle hands on his face. He can practically feel concerned eyes on him, but he doesn't look up, just stares at the ground and fucking shakes. Useless, he's useless and disgusting...

"It's okay if you call me that, I told you," Steve assures him, but he doesn't understand, he doesn't know _why._ "It ain't the first time either, pal."

That gets Bucky's attention.

Very slowly he lifts his head, brow furrowed and wide, wet eyes searching Steve's face in confusion. He's met with a kind expression, too kind, he doesn't deserve it.

"The other night, at the club," he answers softly without Bucky having to ask. "After you had your drink, you started...I thought you knew."

Bucky manages to shake his head. He feels sick.

Mr. Rogers gives him a small, sad smile. His hands are warm on his face but Bucky feels like pulling away.

"You don't have to be ashamed," he murmurs, and Bucky's eyes fall to the floor again. "I mean it, call me that or don't, it's alright..." He trails off because Bucky just keeps shaking his head, breaths coming in quiet, stuttering gasps.

He knows that people call people daddy. He knows that's a thing. But he's also pretty sure that they don't mean it the way he does: literally. And he can't, he _can't_ call Steve that when that's what he means, it feels too much like lying, and he's already doing so much of that, it's driving him crazy.

"I g-gotta tell you somethin'," he whispers, sounding pathetic to his own ears. He ducks his head further presses his hands to his eyes, scrubbing away tears about to fall. He's shaking, almost violently now, taking in big breaths that get caught in his chest, and he just knows there's snot dripping from his nose. Steve goes quiet for a long moment, like he's waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. The alpha's hands move down to his shoulders.

"Okay, Buck, okay," he murmurs. "You wanna lie down? Get more comfortable?"

He considers it, thinks about how he can hide himself under the covers so he doesn't feel quite to exposed, and nods jerkily.

Not a moment later he's in the alpha's arms, scooped up like a small child and carefully placed on the bed. A selfish part of him is grateful when Steve follows, laying out beside him over the blankets while Bucky squirms under them. He pulls them up to his chin and lays on his side, facing the alpha and trying to inconspicuously wipe his nose on the quilt.

"You're scaring me," Steve confesses softly, rubbing Bucky's arm through the blanket. He still doesn't meet the alpha's eyes. "Bucky, is someone hurting you?"

He shakes his head again. No, nothing like that, but Steve's concern, the fact that he's genuinely worried about him, comforts him a little bit.

"Then what's got you so spooked, sweetheart?" Steve goes quiet again, waiting, but Bucky can't speak, his chin wobbling. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right? I promise I'll try to make it better, I'll do everything I can..."

Bucky heaves a shaky sob because he can't fix this, Bucky's just fucked up beyond repair and there's no changing that. He can't find the strength to speak, even when Steve makes a quiet, heartbroken sound and wraps an arm around him, holding him close against his chest.

He should just tell him. Get it over with. But he doesn't want to lose this. Steve is so wonderful, he gives him so much – Bucky doesn't want to break it to him that he wants more, wants something else that no one should ever want.

The alpha doesn't say anything else, he just rubs Bucky's back over the covers and lets him cry against his chest like a little kid. He can feel Steve's warm breath against his ear and focuses on the rhythm of it, trying to match it, hiccuping.

"I-I wasn't—" He takes a shuddering breath and tries again, face hidden and voice muffled. "I wasn't c-callin' you that to be k-kinky, or anythin'."

"Okay," Steve says slowly, and Bucky can hear the confusion in his voice. "Then...why were you? Was it just an accident?"

He's giving Bucky an out. He can say yes, say it was a total fluke and Steve will accept that answer and let them move on from this, he knows he will. He's nice like that. But Bucky hates lying, and he's been lying about this one thing for so damn long. So he shakes his head, and gathers his strength.

"I s-said it 'cause...'cause I really w- _was_ thinkin' about my dad," he confesses, voice small and shaking.

Long silence follows these words. Too much for Bucky to be comfortable with, but he doesn't look up, he just trembles in Steve's arms. And Steve keeps rubbing his back, slower, like he's thinking. Bucky's not sure if he wants him to say anything or if he just wants him to stay silent and forget about the whole thing.

"Really?" he says eventually. He doesn't sound angry, or disgusted, or even disbelieving. Just contemplative. Bucky nods against his chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

More silence. More back rubbing. Bucky's gonna go insane.

"How?" Steve asks, curious. Bucky's brow furrows at the question, and he almost pulls back to look at his face, but he stays where he is, sniffling.

"Like...like...s-sexually?" he answers slowly, uncertain. The word makes his face go red, but he doesn't know what other answer Steve is looking for. Maybe he just doesn't understand still. But he hums in acknowledgement, a considering sound.

"Do you do that a lot?"

Bucky hesitates, then nods. Steve gives another hum. He can feel his own heartbeat like a drum in his chest.

"What do you think about your daddy doing to you?"

He asks it in the same, politely curious tone as before, but the words don't fit with the rest of his questionnaire. Bucky blinks in confusion.

"Um..." He sniffs and wipes his nose again, breathing in the alpha's scent. "Well, a lotta times I...I think about him t-teachin' me. Like you did? H-how to— to do _that."_

Steve's hand trails down his spine, all the way down and back up again slowly, and he turns his head to kiss the sensitive skin just below Bucky's ear. It makes him shiver a little.

"A-are you angry?" he whispers, tentative – not because he seems like he is, but because Bucky doesn't know why he wouldn't be. But Steve shakes his head.

"Tell me more," he murmurs, breath hot against his skin as he kisses further down Bucky's neck. Instinctively, he tilts his head back. "You don't gotta be scared."

Bucky blinks and swallows hard, mind stuck. He's still hiccuping a little, but his muscles have relaxed, only trembling intermittently.

"I-I..." He swallows again, hand clutching Steve's shirt. "I think about him teachin' me like, like one'a my school subjects...he tells me to kn-kneel on the floor..." He's so unsure about this, but his instincts are telling him to obey, to do as Alpha says. And Steve doesn't stop kissing his neck, so somehow he just be doing something right.

"Mhmm," Steve hums, a low sound. The next time his hand brushes up his back, it takes the blanket back down with him, slow. Cool air hits Bucky's back and makes him shiver again, Mr. Rogers' broad palm smoothing back up along his bare skin. "And then what does he tell you to do, sweetheart?"

"T-to keep my hands behind my back," Bucky answers breathily, confused. But the alpha's deep voice is starting to lull him, and he can see his dad in front of him like he always can when he thinks about this, pulling his cock out of his pants right in front of his face. He's always casual about it, like this is nothing out of the ordinary, just one of their lessons.

Mr. Rogers rolls forward just a bit, enough to move Bucky onto his back instead of his side, and he lays boneless against the mattress. The kisses slowly travel down his chest, just above the bralette, the alpha half on top of him.

"And what d'you think about this? In your fantasy?" He asks, tugging the blanket down further. Bucky stares at the ceiling, eyelids heavy.

"I like it," he whispers, a confession. He's slipped into that dazed, submissive place again without even realizing it, hypnotized by the alpha's words and touches. "I...I want it..."

The blanket is all the way off now, Bucky's body laid out for the alpha, his little chest rising and falling rapidly. Mr. Rogers' kisses are slow and wet, tongue laving over his nipple through the lace. He likes it. He wants it.

"Do you tell your daddy that?" the alpha wonders, and Bucky finds himself nodding, eyes unfocused.

"H-he says he knows." He's breathless, arching up slightly into Steve's mouth. "Says he sees the way I look at 'im...th-that I been a good boy, waitin' so long..."

He doesn't know what feels better, Mr. Rogers' hands on him or finally saying all this out loud. It's been bottled up for so long, but when his alpha tells him to let it out, it's so easy...Alpha makes everything so easy, he should always listen to Alpha...

"Does he let you have it, then?"

Bucky licks his lips, shaking his head.

"Makes me wait," he pants quietly. Mr. Rogers is down to his belly now, his breath tickling and his big, strong hands on his sides. "T-touches it to my lips, tells me to stay, like a dog."

The alpha groans against his soft skin and Bucky shudders, hands twitching at his sides. Mr. Rogers reaches up and takes one of his nipples between his fingers, lace scratching as he rolls it, and Bucky lets out a breathless whine. His cock is hard again and throbbing between his legs.

"Do you beg like a good puppy?" Alpha asks, voice so deep it sends a flash of heat through him.

"Y-yes. Yes."

"Show me."

Mr. Rogers is pulling down his panties and Bucky's breathing gets more frantic, the room spinning because he's so dizzy with need. He doesn't know how they got like this, doesn't know why he's being asked to describe something he's so ashamed of, but he's way too far gone to question it.

"Please Daddy," he whines, breathless and high. "I need it so bad, please let me have it, Daddy, I'll be so good, promise..."

The words tumble from his lips and there are tears running down his face and into his hair – he feels and sounds like a mess, completely undone and at Steve's mercy. The alpha ducks his head and suddenly Bucky's cock is wrapped in soft, wet heat, making him scream and cry and arch his back. He comes the second Mr. Rogers starts sucking, his body twitching and gasping. After that, he only manages to stay conscious long enough to feel the alpha swallowing down every drop of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that finally happened.
> 
> I realized thanks to you guys that some of my ideas of how a/b/o dynamics work is a little different to the norm, so I thought I'd clear things up. This is how things work in the universe this story takes place in:
> 
> Alphas can impregnate omegas and female betas. Male betas can impregnate omegas. Omegas and female betas cannot impregnate anyone. Alphas of any gender and male betas cannot become pregnant. A male beta can impregnate a female beta.
> 
> Any fertile pairing can produce pups of any designation (alpha, beta, or omega), and no designation is significantly more common than another. A litter of pups from an omega can have up to three sires. The most common litter size is four pups, but only if the omega is in heat when they're conceived. If not in heat, a litter of one or two is more likely, and this is also the most common litter size for beta mothers. Having as many as ten pups is about as common as us humans having triplets. The likelihood of having more than four pups is increased if there are multiple sires of the same litter.
> 
> Hope that clears things up a little! Something I'm still undecided on though, that I need your guys' help with, is the anatomy of female alphas, because that will come into play later in the story (during the orgy part, of course). Do they just have dicks, like males? Or do they have vaginas too? Or maybe a vagina with a dick that retracts or something, idfk. Help me out please, I'd love to hear suggestions!


End file.
